Hook
by D.K. Archer
Summary: A dark story about how Hook came to Neverland, and became captain of the Jolly Roger (incomplete) UPDATED please read ch6 notes
1. one

Untitled

**Chapter 1**

I hurt.....therefore, I am...... 

It was the nearest the man's mind could muster to an intelligent thought. Every muscle of his body complained of it's abuse, and his leg shouted angrily of an open, harassed wound. At least, it might have been his leg....he felt as though he were watching from a thousand miles away, drifting half into awareness and out again before he could understand what was happening. He was a spectator, and his body, the world around it, were up on stage. He need feel no connection to the performers, only watch with partial interest as they voiced their complaints. It was a peaceable realm, really, but as all forms of peace it cannot last. Soon he drifted into awareness and stayed, the world sharpening and taking form, leaving him without a place to retreat to. The pain was HIS pain now. Despite attempts to fall back again he could not, and with some difficulty accepted that he was now here, permanently. 

He tried to open his eyes. 

A small feat by any standards, it now seemed an incredible strain, and he only managed to open them to partial slits. Tinted, dirty, and cruelly bright sunlight wretched the nerves there, but he knew if he closed them again he would never reverse the action. Next...he must roll over. He had to move, if only to see where he was, and with a rough groan he managed to haul himself onto his side. His ears...at first they hurt, and then, a muffled, tinny sound like some distorted ocean wave began to register in his mind. Ocean? His eyes focused and he was greeted by an expanse of blue ocean brine, a clear blue sky, and rough sand beneath his palms. 

Where was he? He'd never seen this place before. At his feet the cold salt of the sea lapped his torn boots, and before him the sand gave way to a rather eclectic forest. He must have washed up on shore somewhere......had he been on a boat? Had it sunk? Had he fallen overboard? He couldn't remember. A boat...he had to have been on a boat, taking him from.......to.......but he..... 

He couldn't remember. SOMEHOW he'd ended up here, but he couldn't remember. And if he didn't belong here, where should he have been? Somewhere, surely. He had to belong somewhere. He forced himself to sit up and move away from the slowly advancing ocean, though his abused muscles voiced their displeasure quite loudly. His left leg, particularly. Still somewhat dazed he leaned down and examined the torn trousers. Though all of his skin had collected scratches and scrapes, a gaping maw still leaking blood and looking greatly harassed was on the back side of his calf. Morbidly curious at the injury he prodded it with a torn knuckle, and nearly bit thru the sides of his tongue when the action awoke the nerves previously dead from the water. But thru refound blood he noticed something black sitting in it's depth, a stone, or a piece of metal...a bullet? 

When had he been shot? He strained for an answer but nothing rose to mind. Nothing at all. He was trying to read a book without words, for his minds was completely and utterly blank. Below his ribs the cold, churning sensation of utter panic rose and threatened to consume his body like an overgrown parasite. With some effort he pressed it down but could not destroy it. He had to think about what needed to happen now, not what had happened before. And for now...he needed to find out where he was. 

Good. That gave him something to focus on. Unsure of his ability he oozed upward, to his knees, to a kneel, to a crouch, to an uneasy limping stance that made the pain nearly unbearable. Setting his jaw against it he lurched forward, stumbling towards the tree line. Behind him a trail of claret blood stained the sand, and was eaten by the endless waves.   


"You can't catch me! Whoosh, I'm the wind!" 

A barefoot child with long black hair came swooping out of the bushes, running thru the trees with half a dozen blue fairies trailing in his wake. 

"Whoosh! I'm an eagle, I rule the wind!" 

A second child ran after him, flapping her arms in a mimicry of wings. To her long hair three white fairies clung, chattering angrily at her sudden departure. 

"Oh yeah? Well I'm a hunter, I shoot down the eagle!" 

"I'm a panther, I pull out the hunter's throat!" 

"I'm a--" 

"EEEK!" 

The girl's shriek made the boy turn on his heels, and following her pointed finger he saw what she saw. A sticky spatter of blood formed a trail across their path, and ended in the hollowed out body of a wide neveroak. It was not this alone that made the girl shriek. After all, she was a redskin's daughter, and knew well the rules of life and death in the forest. It was that even in the heavy shadow of the tree's interior, the body of a man was visible. It was not a redskin man, nor one of the Lost Boys, nor even one of the pirates she had seen on occasion from the edge of the beach. He was curled into a fetal ball and shaking terribly. Around him, covering the legs of his tattered trousers and smeared across his deathly white skin, was the blood that had made such a trail here. 

The boy took up a stick from the ground and poked (rather stupidly) the injured man's ribs. He twitched, but did little else. 

"Who do you think he is?" the girl said, ignoring the tangled fairies' cursing as they picked their way from her hair. "Is he a pirate?" 

"He doesn't look much like a pirate. Maybe one of the Lost Boys?" 

"The Lost Boys don't have any grownups, silly. He must be a Lost Grownup. No one ends up in Never Land who isn't lost." 

"Yeah. He's bleeding pretty bad. Do you think we should tell someone he's here?" 

The white fairies, having finally untangled themselves, dragged the blue fairies into a swarm above their heads. The flickering lights cast odd shadows about the trees before they vanished quite suddenly above the forest roof. Neither child noticed. 

"You can stay here." the boy said. "I'll go back and get someone." 

Before she could argue he, too, had vanished. Suddenly quite alone, she sat down at the base of the tree and waited for help to arrive.   


He dreamed. In the great void of liquid darkness thru which he floated, he dreamed. They were blurry, fragmental dreams, frustrating in their elusiveness and uselessness. People with faces made from sky drifted past him, while above, the sky was made of faces. No real faces, to be sure, but shifting, liquid masses that here looked like a woman, and there looked like a man. Expressions were lost in an instant but for a long, silent scream, surfacing here and there with new eyes of utter terror and disbelief. He wanted to name them. Names stood on his tongue but he could not claim them, no matter how he mouthed the syllables to himself. 

He awoke. The darkness behind his eyes lifted long enough to open them. Light was dim here, lending a disquieting appearance to the curve of the mud and stick walls. It's only source was from under a skin tacked over the small doorway. Sitting up, and regretting it immediately from the pounding this caused in his head, he reached weakly towards the entrance, cracking lips moving but his throat too dry to sound. He wanted to cry out to someone, anyone, who could tell him what was happening. Where he was. Why he was here. And perhaps, someone even knew his name. 

Attempting to rise to his knees, he found his action impeded. In the dim light he saw he lay on a thick furred skin, and his leg immobile upon it from a stiff splint holding his knee. His trousers had been torn off at the thigh on that leg, though they were clean and patched, and his shirt was also. It was a better condition than he had awoken to last time. 

Rolling onto his stomach and crawling to the small entrance, he flicked back the skin covering and was nearly blinded by the onslaught of amber summer light. His eyes adjusted, though, and in a moment he could see a scattering of huts similar to what this one must be, small fires, trees, and something he took a moment to recognize as a partially rendered deer. Two young men with dark, reddish skin were working on the carcass, and had turned to stare back at him. One whispered to the other, and the latter vanished into one of the huts. 

Apparently the two boys were not the only ones out, because something in the edge of his vision moved and he saw a woman move away from some sort of beading work she'd been doing in the sun. In a moment she reappeared with a water skin. The remaining boy watched suspiciously as she approached and gave a small smile, and held the water skin above his lips. He forgot the glaring brave and gulped the stream of water as if it were the best thing he had ever tasted. In many ways, it was. 

"So your finally awake." came a heavy baritone voice. The man choked on the water, startled, and he turned his head to face it's source. A redskin man, somewhat old, quite massive, and entirely bald stood there, with the young man who had left beside him. "You were out for three days. We thought you wouldn't wake up. How's your leg?" 

Confused and flustered, he rasped "D-do I know you?" 

"No. But my name is Blue Hawk." There was an expectant pause. "Now, I believe, it is customary to tell your own name?" 

Four sets of eyes were staring at him as his brain whirred helplessly. 

"I-I don't know. I don't know my name." 

"You've forgotten your own name?" said Blue Hawk, curiosity and suspicion raising one of his eyebrows. "How does one forget something as simple as one's name?" 

"I don't know! I don't know anything! I don't.......I don't REMEMBER anything....." 

"Nothing at all? Not your home, your family, not even how you were shot?" 

"No...nothing." 

The old redskin approached and kneeled beside the man, who was still sitting awkwardly on the ground. 

"Whatever incident caused your injury and set you adrift in the sea could have shocked the memories out of you. Or perhaps a knock on the skull chased them away." 

One of Blue Hawks massive hands touched the back of the man's head. Some unknown instinct tore thru his gut and he jerked forward into a heap, hands covering his head protectively. No one spoke. After a moment he pulled back up, shaking some and head throbbing from the sudden motion. 

"You need rest." was all Blue Hawk said. He stood and, as if he weighed no more than a child, scooped the lost man into his arms and carried him back into the hut from which he came. "The rest of my tribe will be back shortly. Together we will decide what to do with you. For now, you need to rest. Deer Sister will bring you something to calm you." 

He felt he should have protested to being handled in this manner, but in his current position it seemed unwise to protest anything. Blue Hawk left, and the man propped himself up on his elbows, staring blankly at the walls of the hut. His mind wanted to be full of thoughts, of plottings and questions and curiosities, but he could not give it what it wanted. The meager experiences his mind had to work from, both disconnected and all to short, did not supply a brain as labirithian and laborious as his was finding itself to be with much material. In it's momentary solitude it picked apart every snippet of information it had collected, tried feebly to connect the two events, and failed on most all accounts. The best it could summon was that he was still in the same area as he had washed up, because the trees near the village were the same mix as the ones he'd seen before passing out. The information was only slightly useful, but not terribly. 

On a more useful note, his brain noticed the vast difference between the color of the flesh these people were built from and the pale tone he saw on his hands. This difference could not be solely attributed to blood loss. This meant he had either washed up very far from home, or he had been an odd one where he had last lived. 

So he knew he was in the same place he had been when he washed up, and very far from home. 

It somehow didn't feel like an achievement to know this. 

The skin over the door flipped up, and the same woman who had given him water stepped inside. She really was quite pretty. She looked to be perhaps in her fortieth year, with a warm, patient glow in her eyes that only mothers tend to have. The look was comforting. In her hands she held a pottery bowl with triangular birds painted in black on the sides. With utmost care she knelt beside him and helped him to lean against the wall. 

"You must be Deer's Sister?" he asked. The woman nodded, and handed him the bowl. It was filled with a warm dark liquid with a slightly herbal scent. Before he could discern what it was she slipped from the hut. 

Might as well try anything once, and his stomach was wanting of something inside it. He sipped it experimentalyl. It tasted something faintly like sage, and another thing he couldn't place. Whatever it was, it was pleasant, and he swallowed half the bowl in a few gulps. In his pause he noticed an image dancing on the surface of the liquid. A reflection. Good lord, was that him? He raised a pale hand to touch his cheek. The image moved as well. It WAS him! 

He was deathly pale with rude discolorment around his eyes. His features were largly good, if a little rough, and he noticed he must have been a very merticulouse person back when he couldn't remember. His hair was black and slightly curled, and trimmed precisely at a perfect, short length that struggled to fall in place even when so tangled as it was now. He raked his fingers thru the mess and checked his reflection again, and was pleased. Two pale eyes stared back at him from the bowl, and he wondered just what color they were, since the reflection was tinted. His moment of self absorbtion was inturrupted by his mind throwing forth a word triumphantly. The word felt as if it did not belong in his head, as if it had been stolen from someone else who had long been deceased. 

The word was 'James'. 

"James." he murmered, staring into his own pale eyes. "James? Can that be right?" 

His brain slowly connected the word James to the face before it. His name was James. The triumph that should have been that moment was tainted by the feeling of the word. It had come from some place of darkness, some deep buried grave that should well be left alone. It was saturated with the fragmental remenants of someone elses agony. He could not define what, but he did not like it at all. Was that his mind? Was that him before he could remember? Nausea threatened to take him as he realized it was. The mind that had been shut away from him was a dark and miserable place. It burned with fear, pain, and anger, old wounds that could never heal and new wounds just blazing into life. Certainly everyone's mind wasn't so terrible after only his questionable years. Whatever had caused this he did not want to see, and forced his churning brain to be content with just a name. 

"My name is James. I. I am James."   


Out on the churning water surrounding Neverland, dancing across the sea that had so rudely treated James before, a great rotting bulk of ship tripped from wave to wave. It's sails were patched and dingey, and it's mast was splintering at the top. In worn red letter near the bow it claimed it's name; The Jolly Roger. Holding true to it's nature that exact thing waved bravly from atop the mast. It was a tattered red flag bearing a black skeleton, raising a rum glass...the flag of choice for pirates of the main. 

"You rotting meatbags! You pathetic excuse for a crew! We're almost to the land, do you want the bloody redskins to take US unprepared? Get your tails moving, before I cut them off!" 

That was the captain,who has known many names, but here will be called Barbecue. He stood aloof from his crew with his hands fisted on his hips. His image is a familiar one, ragged and unshaven, with a missing leg replaced by wood. Many remember another adventure he'd had before vanishing to Neverland, and if time had done anything to this man he had become twice as foul in his ways and entertainments, rivaling even the feared Captain Low. 

Understandably, his men gave perfect respect. 

A cool south wind pushed them obligingly towards Neverland, and as the island came in sight the final preparations had been made. All men were armed, those who had the pitch hardened sort of armor wore it, though they doubted their targets would have a counter attack, or even a defense ready. But they prepared for the worst; all knew too well that their captain did not tolerate the injured, and more often than not he used them for his 'entertainments'. 

The most densly forrested area of the island was to be their landing point, and the captain was correct in his assumption no one would see them. The redskins rarely came there. Though the hunting was good they thought evil spirits lurked in the woods, and would not enter. That gave the pirates a clear area of one quarter mile before encountering the indian village. Most any other form of man would find it unbearably greusome and entirely unfair to attack a people without warning or due provocation. But the pirate was exactly the form of man that could do it. And they would. Shortly.   


Whatever had been in the drink sent James back into a dark and empty sleep, where, blessedly, no dreams came to taunt him. The cold silence of this nether world cooled the futilly churning gears of his brain, an effect that lasted even after he was prodded awake in a dark and primitive setting. Judging from the quality and lack of light that came from the enterance it was night, or nearly so, but the flickering glow of an unseen fire cast trembling shadows on the wall. Above him stood a man just slightly older than Blue Hawk, who's black eyes shifted eerily in the unsteady light. 

James began to speak, but a raised hand silenced him. 

"Be at peace. My name is Great-Big-Little-Panther. I am the leader here. And you are the one who has no name." 

"Er, actually, I think my name is James...." he inturrupted meekly. 

"James. And that is all?" 

"That I can remember." 

Great-Big-Little-Panther nodded. "And you are James." He paused, then continued. "I have held council with my guides, both here and in the spirit realm. Blue Hawk and Running Tiger are my most trusted advisors, and they beleive you to be of no harm. However...." 

The cheif got a far away look in his eyes, and James wondered if he was allright. 

"My advisors of the spirit realm do not tell the same story." He finally said. "The raven and the crow say your nature is one of death. You have killed before, and will kill again." 

James's eyes went wide, but the chief continued. 

"The panther tells me the nature of your time, which will be long, with two rebirths yet to come. The serpent tells me you will one day be our enemy." 

Now James's jaw clenched. He was sure they would kill him now, to prevent the future they thought would come. He wondered if he could sneak away the next time they left him alone. 

"But the songbird...." he said, voice softening. "Tells me you will first be our friend." 

"A-are you going to kill me, then?" James stuttered. 

"No. It could not change the future if we did. No death is final, especially not here. Especially not now." 

The cryptic feel of the statement sent James's mind into action, but he would have no chance to question the man. 

"You may stay with us, until memory or destiny sends you to your fate." 

"Thank you." 

Great-Big-Little-Panther shook his head. "Do not thank us. You will find, perhaps, a greater kindness had we killed you." 

James went stiff "What do you mean by that?!" 

The cheif ignored him, and pushed open the flap to leave. 

"What do you mean, it would have been kinder to kill me!? What are you talking about?!" 

But he was allready gone.   


Long tendrils of night twined round worn leather boots and muffled the sounds of footsteps. A dozen or so men with their back's stooped and hands on their swords crept as silently as they knew how over the rotting vegetation of the forest floor. Most could see nothing; night had fallen completely over Neverland, and the thin light the moon afforded barely even reached the ground. Each followed blindly the man before him, and the lead man followed Barbecue, who seemed to have no trouble in the dark. Even with his ungainly wooden leg he was quieter than the rest, and saw obstructions before falling into them. Despite it's usefullness the men found this ability disturbing. Their captain's behavior was allready ghoulish even to their hardened minds, and even the slightest hint of supernatural about him made him too frightening to want to share ship with. 

Barbecue knew his men's superstitions and paranoias well; he had to, to avoid a mutiny. Most had been pirates before coming to Neverland, and had lived under the vaugly democratic system of pirate ships. They were used to councils and quartermasters, an elected captain and the ability to overthrow him if he went against their will. The captain had no REAL power there. Barbecue was of the nature to want real and absolute power, and the only was he could obtain this was to join the legitimate Navy and work his way up to captain. He did not have the patience or discipline to bother with that. 

Of all the pirates he had known on previouse exploits, pirates lost to Neverland were the easiest to control. They had been completely severed from the familiar world where logic and law applied. Some even thought they were dead. This made them very easy to dominate by someone who seemed to know what was going on and how to overcome it. It was an act, of course. Barbecue had no more of an idea as to where they were, how they got there, and why all logic had fallen thru than the rest of his crew did. He simply didn't care as much. So what if they were dead? So what if they were in a dream? Whatever got them there did not change the fact they were there, and he was going to make the best of it. 

That is why they were attacking the redskins. Berbecue needed to stay in power, and to do that, his men had to be loyal. The only way thay would follow him and still put up with his behavior is if he kept them occupied and focused on an outside enemy, not him. The redskins were as good as any. In fact, they were really the only option. The only other inhabitants of the island were a gaggle of boys who flew by fairy magic, and they were few, unorganized, and generally a poor target for such a campaign as his. Besides, they were friends with the redskins, and whichever he chose to fight he would inevitably end up fighting both. It worked in their favor, anyway. That their enemy was allied with supernatural children made his men even more set against them. 

_Thanks for you cooperation, Peter._ Barbecue thought to himself, amused. 

From somewhere ahead the faintest flicker of motion caught Barbecue's attention, and his hand stretched back automatically to stop the man behind him. They had to be near the indian village, and any motion or sound might mean they had been detected. But the action did not occur again. Barbecue motioned his men forward. 

At the edge of the village, he saw the fires had been covered and the leather flaps of the hut entrances were pinned together for the night. The redskins were asleep. What blessed luck was this! Taking a deep breath, he nodded, and all the pirates drew their swords and ran into the village to find.... 

...nothing. The violence with which the huts were slashed open dissipated to confusion as they were found empty of sleepers. The entire village was deserted. Barbecue froze. From the corner of his eye he saw the small motion of a bow being aimed. The bloody indians were ambushing THEM! 

He didn't even have a chance to curse before a rain of arrows (none aimed to kill, thankfully) rained down on them, and in a panic his men scattered. Enraged, the captain raised his sword and ran blindly into the trees, though whether he was aimed to chop the indians or his own cowardly men, we can't be sure. Fortunatly he did not catch either. In his rage he'd forgotten the indians were still armed, and in passing an arrow struck his posterior and stuck there. 

The indians were laughing as the pirates went running back towards the ship.   


Some ten minutes prior to this failed (and embarrasing) attack, James had been shaken awake by small hands. In the dark, two pairs of enormouse black eyes stared down at him. 

"What--" 

"Shh!" One of the children put a hand over James's mouth, and whispered "Be quiet. You have to come with us." 

"Why?" he replied quietly, though still not helping as the children tried to push him to his feet. 

The smaller child, whom he realized was a boy, answered. "The pirates are coming. Our father ordered everyone out of the village so they can't attack us." 

"Pirates? What pirates?" 

James's memory may be faulty, but he knew well enough that pirates were only a threat at sea, and rarely attacked inland towns, especially ones with so little to offer as the indian village. 

"Just come on!" hissed the other one. Female, he thought, and older. 

Finally conceding, he tried to move up to his feet, and leaning his palms quite heavily on the childrens' shoulders, he hobbled out with them into the lesser dark of the nighttime world. He could now see that he had been correct in his guesses as to the childrens' gender. The girl looked to be perhaps eight, though she was a very upright child, and the boy perhaps six. Both had small bows and three arrows on their backs. 

They led him to the trees, where he would have run into the perfectly still indians had the children not been there. All who could shoot had their bows in hand and an arrow limp on the string. The children joined them, leaving James leaning akwardly against a twisted old tree, trying not to put weight on the injured leg and failing. It was damnable, really, that the wound was very nearly in the back of the knee. This meant he could not bend without reopening the thing, though the sticks placed in with the bandages prevented that. It made it intolerably hard to walk or stand since all had to be done with one leg. He was still light headed enough from the loss of blood to make standing on one leg nearly impossible. 

The battle, which does not bear repeating, ended swiftly. The usual stoic pride of the indians melted as they returned to their village, and even James could not help laughing as he watched the two children giggling and bragging. The youngest was strutting around like he had defeated the pirates all by himself. 

"James, did you see, did you see?" said the girl, after proudly waving her bow at her father and receiving a light and amused verbal chastisment for bragging. She didn't care. She showed her small bow and remaining arrow to James "I got the captain! Right there!" she said, patting the rear of her deerskin skirt. "He won't be forgetting ME for a while, huh? I'll bet it hurt! Did you see?" 

"Yes, I saw." he chuckled. 

"Warrior princess Tiger Lilly!" she crowed, and ran off to tackle the other child. 

In only a short time, Great-Big-Little-Panther seperated them good naturedly. 

"It's time to sleep now. You've had enough excitement for one night." 

"But Father, we helped chase off the pirates!" protested the boy. "Can't we stay awake and talk over the fire, like the warriors?" 

"Hard-To-Hit, you'll live like the warriors when you're old enough to be one." 

"I'm old enough, aren't I? I was old enough to fight..." 

Tiger Lilly spoke "Please, Father? We won't inturrupt anybody, we'll be good! Honest!" 

Great-Big-Little-Panther paused a moment. He knew his children well enough that he trusted them not to pester, but he also knew they needed to sleep. If he let them stay up, and sit around the fire listening to men prattle out stories, they would likely drop off much faster than if they lay on the mat in the hut grumbling over a missed oppurtunity. 

"Allright, you can stay up and listen." he said. They cheered and ran off to help with the fire. 

Of course, he was right. Nothing is quite so interesting as it seems when you're a child and not allowed to join, and within minutes of one of the elders beginning the well-known creation myth, Tiger Lilly was curled up on the ground beside him, and Hard-To-hit on his lap, both sound asleep. They didn't wake up when he took them one at a time up into his arms and carried them to the hut, laying them both gently on the heavy furs they slept on. After the fire died down and all the remaining warriors went to their respective huts (including a confused and fading James), he leaned down carefully beside them and kissed each on the forehead. 

"Good night, my children. May your nights be sweeter than your days." 

And they were. 

**_To Be Continued..._****__**

_ [back][1]_

   [1]: http://www.geocities.com/draggrif/short.html



	2. two

chapter 2   
chapter 2 

Aboard the rouge ship Jolly Roger, things were not nearly so peaceful. Bitter and sore from their defeat, the pirates had loused about the hold grumbling at each other and patching their arrow knicks with strips of unwashed cloth. They'd left shore immediately, and were now some few miles far from Neverland and bobbing about on the night time waters like a dead bird. The griping had originally started about the simple failure of the attack, but with some time (and some liquor from dented tin cups) it turned to other things. They barked about the shoddy gin itself (though where they had gotten it in the first place nobody knew), they grumped about the rotting ship, the heavy labor, the often uncooperative winds, the lack of women, the annoying way fairies tangled the rigging, the mermaids that slapped the side of the boat with their tails while everyone was trying to sleep, the salted meat, and the shortness of tobacco which, unlike the liquor, did not seem to be infinite in it's amount. 

That was as far as anyone got before the notable steps of the captain were heard coming down. He was in a foul mood, that was obvious, and anyone why knew why he was walking oddly had the reason. Instantly, anything he might find objectionable was stuffed away, but the one thing no one noticed was the thing he picked out. 

The lantern that had been lighting the area was smudged and therefor spotty and dim. Someone had removed the glass cover to clean it on his shirt hem. In consequence, the low candle sat unprotected on the metal base, the whole of which was atop a barrel in the very middle of the room. Arriving, Barbecue's cold eyes focused on it immediatly. Every pirate but the one who didn't know better scattered. 

That one was Starkey. He stood next to the barrel, still holding the lantern cover where he'd frozen. He did not know what was happening, and he did not know what he had done wrong, but he knew from that cruel glint in the captain's eyes he was in trouble. 

Starkey had not been a pirate before coming to Neverland. In fact, he had never been on a boat at all. The poor fellow had worked at a school, with children, whom he'd found rather annoying. One day he had simply appeared on the Jolly Roger. No one had questioned it, as if he had been there the whole time. He'd nearly begun to believe he had. So, having never been a pirate and never been a sailor, Starkey was quite lacking in knowledge as to some of the rather nasty rules that went along with it. 

"Mr. Starkey," Barbecue said coolly, a tone he only took when someone was in trouble. "You weren't always a pirate, were you?" 

"N-no sir." 

"You haven't really even been on a boat before." 

"That's right, sir." 

Barbecue's eyes sparkled, and he began to slowly circle Starkey like a fleshy vulture. 

"Tell me, Mr. Starkey, do you know what Moses's Law is?" 

"Umm...wait..." His mind whirred back to before Neverland, when he'd still gone to church once in a while. Moses had something to do with the ten commandments. The only one he had managed to remember fell out of his mouth. "Thou shalt not kill?" 

"WRONG answer, Mr. Starkey!" 

With a grin to fiendish for any normal man, Barbecue backhanded Starkey across the jaw, sending him into the barrel, which knocked over the candle, and caused the pirate to drop the lantern cover. It shattered against the warped wooden boards in a dazzling and momentary explosion of twisting, flying, prismatic glass, which inevitably settled on the floor and sparkled no more. Barbecue pushed himself forward on his wooden leg and leaned down over the bewildered pirate, in almost the same motion setting his hand down onto the candle flame. In the new found darkness his eyes caught the moonlight that filtered down thru the gratings, and any poet might say that they glowed. 

"Wrong.....answer....."   


The pirates of the Jolly Roger always did what Barbecue said, so when the captain ordered Starkey be stripped and tied by wrist to the grating, they obeyed. Starkey, bewildered and unknowing of his crime, made such a display of protesting shrieks and whimpers that even the sterner of the pirates felt sorry for him. All had gotten in trouble somehow or another in their sea faring careers, and a few had even managed to anger Barbecue, and they did not envy Starkey what was to come. But fearing their captain too greatly to disobey, the crew grabbed the scrawny Englishman and dragged him atop the deck. Two of the pirates held him while others pulled the metal grating from the boards and leaned it against the cabin. By the time Barbecue came leisurely up to the deck, hands clasped hidden behind his back, Starkey's clothes had been tossed aside and the man tied spread-eagle against the upright grating. 

The captain slowly wandered towards the crew, his face calm and docile, yet somehow all the darker for it. The moon on the ocean cast thin shadows over his visage, and the sea itself had taken on a silvered sheen below them. All was silent save the lapping waves as Barbecue came to stop beside Starkey. 

"Mr. Starkey," he said smoothly "In the interest of your obviously meager education, I should like to submit to you what is known as Moses's Law. It is still and originally instituted by the regular navy." The last two word were spat as though they were serpent venom, but the inflection quickly vanished. "The law states that, as these ships we sail are so prone to fires, there will be no uncovered embers, no open flames, no uncapped pipes, and NO......lanternless candles." 

Starkey, his neck twisted in a frightened attempt to keep the captain in view, quite suddenly lost sight of him. When the next words were uttered they were from behind him. 

"The breaking of this law carries a punishment, Mr. Starkey." 

The pirates watching from along the ship rail felt a tremor of startled fear as Barbecue seemed, in the merest instant, to become something far too degenerate to be human, something grinning and devilish with an unwholesome sparkle in his eyes. 

"Thirty nine lashes!" 

In a cruel and practiced movement the corded scourge which had previously been hidden by his arms and coat swung out, and to all it seemed as if his arm had grown into a many branched tentacle of which he had perfect and ultimate control. In fear of the words and the unseeable action behind him Starkey gave a loud and terrified whimper. The scourge came up, flared terribly in the moonlight, and Starkey mercifully could not see as it sped down towards his skin. 

*** 

"Ja-ames! Your not trying hard enough!" Tiger Lilly said, her short patience fading to innocent exasperation. "We can't play the game if you don't try! Now think. If I'm a tiger, what can you be that destroys a tiger?" 

The two were walking on a little used deer path not far from the lagoon, supposedly looking for a specific ritual herb but not trying terribly hard. It had been three weeks since James's acceptance by the redskins, and with the aid of their excellent healing skills his leg was as good as it ever was. He still did not know how it had been injured in the first place, or really anything more than he had learned that first night, but somehow it didn't matter anymore. He had a name, he had a place to be, and thanks to two curious and often bored children he had people who wanted him to be there. The adults of the tribe had found him exceptionally useless as far as hunting or artful skills went, and so had no particular interest in the man. But the children found him interesting, not only because he was different from them, but because he was one of the few adults who didn't know more than they did. It was a rather selfish motive, but it makes one feel very intelligent and skillful when in the presence of an adult who knows nothing. 

The rest of the tribe did not mind that James was the friend of the children. In fact, most viewed him as being the same level they were, as some oversized child or perhaps pseudo adult. In ways of common sense he knew more than the children, and that alone kept him from permanent classification there. And, being so blessedly childish and useless, he was sent on childish and useless errands, which explained why he was wandering around with Tiger Lilly looking for a certain kind of never bush. 

"Lets start over." Tiger Lilly said. "And this time, really TRY." 

She paused to think, examining a few bushes as they passed. 

"I am a wolf." she finally said. "Now what are you?" 

James thought a moment "I am a lion, wolf killing." 

"Then I am a hunter, lion spearing." 

"I am a...uh....cockatrice, hunter poisoning." 

She raised an eyebrow at him "I am a basilisk, turns a cockatrice to stone." 

He paused. What could destroy something that turned all who saw it to stone? 

"I know! I am a blind leopard." 

Tiger Lilly snorted "I am a hole in the ground, which the leopard falls into and dies." 

"I am a dog. I fill up the hole." 

"Look, there it is!" 

The sudden break from the game confused him for a moment, before realizing Tiger Lilly was pointing to a low, thick bush with tiny blue flowers on it. It matched the description Great Big Little Panther had given them to find. 

"Now, er, James, which part were we supposed to bring back?" the girl asked, turning over a few leaves. 

He looked blankly at her. "Part?" 

"Well he can't have wanted the whole bush! Did he want the leaves, the flowers, the root?" 

"I thought you were listening!" 

"I thought YOU were!" 

They stared at each other a moment, then stared at the bush. 

Five minutes later they were walking back towards the village, the entire never bush in James's arms.   


The winds of Neverland had an adventurous power in them today. They blew in from the sea (but then, any direction was from the sea) and seemed to hold a very real taunt in them. Above the trees one boy answered, searching vainly fir their promised adventure. This boy is one all would know if they saw him, for they've seen him many times before, but more often when they were children. His hair was uncombed and swirled about his neck and ears as he flew, without wings, without glider, simply flew. It was a thing a child could do in Neverland, when sprinkled with fairy dust and shown how. He was clothed in skeletal leaves and quite shoeless, and to someone chancing to look up he could be a fairy himself. 

Of course, that would not have been odd in the slightest, not in Neverland. In all fact there was indeed a fairy present, also. A blue light of about a hand's length high was skimming along below the boy. It was not his original fairy, surely, for his fairy died many many years ago, and he had long since forgotten him. Since then, many fairies had been his fairy. There was something oddly attractive to them about this boy, whom would never grow older, would never destroy them thru his disbelief, and always be as heartless as one could be. 

This boy was Peter Pan. 

The fairy flying below him was Tybalt, so named because before becoming Peter's fairy he had been largely friendly with cats, and some had taken to calling him the king of cats, hence Tybalt. Peter did not understand the connection, and personally found it a foolish way to name anyone. 

"Peter, look!" shouted Tybalt, in the ringing fairy language Peter had learned even before English. Quickly looking down, Peter saw a pair of figures wandering across a very old deerpath. One was small, and dressed in skins, while the other was large and carrying, oddly enough, an uprooted bush. Peter paused in midair to get a better look at them. The small one was the indian girl, who's name he could not remember, and the other was a grown white man and could therefore only be a pirate. Neither appeared to be armed, but why a pirate and a redskin would be carrying a bush was enough to investigate, and he might even get to kill the pirate. 

Holding Tybalt in cupped hands to hide the glow, Peter slid down into the trees, alighting silently on the soft decay of forest floor. The indian girl was speaking. 

"Fine then, I am a spider, fly eating." 

"I'm a sparrow, spider eating." the man replied. 

"I am a sparrow hawk." 

"Then I'm a redskin, hawk shooting." 

The girl's jaw snapped closed, and she frowned. 

"Nothing can defeat a redskin! That's not a fair move." 

"Sure it is." the man said. "That means I win?" 

"I guess so." she grumbled. 

Thinking it a fine jest to startle them, Peter launched out of the trees and landed directly in their path, Tybalt getting rather knocked about in the process and having several choice words about that. The girl looked hardly surprised at the appearance, though the man jumped and nearly dropped the bush. 

"Nice of you to finally reveal yourself, Peter." she said flatly. 

"I thought so." he said, and put his hand on his sword. "You want I should kill the pirate for you?" 

"What pirate?" she asked, looking genuinely confused. 

"That one! Carrying the bush! Why are you carrying a bush, anyway?" 

"Pirate?" James said, his face again quite blank. 

"He means you." Tiger Lilly said, elbowing James. "And your wrong, Peter, he isn't a pirate. He's staying with us." 

If the man was not a pirate, that made the whole situation rather uninteresting. His eyes wandered off and Tiger Lilly thought he would fly away again. 

"What about the bush?" he asked, not really hoping for an interesting answer. 

"My father sent us out to get something from it. We forgot what." she explained. 

"Ah." 

Entirely bored now, Peter looked at Tybalt, who had settled on his shoulder. The fairy was straightening a crease Peter had caused in his wings when he jostled him. 

"Come on, Tybalt, lets go look for bears." 

Peter flew off towards the north. Really, it was unfortunate he did, because if he had flown to the south he might have had a rather lovely adventure with the pirates clustering near the cove. As it was he will not find out they had come until it was a day too late to battle them, but so it goes sometimes. 

The cove had been discovered by the pirates on a foraging trip the week before, and to their delight it perfectly fit the Jolly Roger and made a wonderful hiding place. This is, of course, intentional on the part of the children who dreamed it, because all magic islands need a pirates cove. These pirates were up to mischief again, as all good pirates must be, and there was some discontent between the crew over why they were doing this again. Half of them wanted to kill the redskins, and half would rather kill the captain. Starkey was among this latter half, who had spent a week sick and in pain over his skinless back. It was still a bit sore. The only pirate who had absolutely no opinion on the matter was a new one, a bespectacled Irishman who was pathetic on all counts. He had appeared a few days ago to replace the old bo'sun. The poor fellow had insulted the captain to his face, and for it had a rope tied about one ankle and was dangled over the side of the boat. Barbecue let him flounder, sputter, and nearly drown before pulling him up again, letting him rest a few hours, and throwing him back over. Eventually he stopped struggling and simply drown. Therefore, the next morning, his usual hammock was filled by the short and genial Irishman. No one even wondered where these replacement crew came from, anymore. They simply were. 

The crew became hushed as the captain was seen coming towards them. Like the rest, he was armed to the gills, and had donned his most threatening suit of clothing. He met the glaring eyes of his crew with a harsh stare that would make a tiger cringe. Unfortunately, one among his crew had less intelligence than a tiger. A brutish man who had come from Rio, who wore gold earrings and had a back tattoo on his chest, stepped forward from the group with a malicious scowl. 

"Barbecue, we don't like the way your runnin' this ship." 

"Oh really?" the captain said pleasantly. 

"Yeah, really. You're not even a proper pirate, you're islander scum, and you captain like it!" 

The thinnest lines of amusement began around Barbecue's mouth "So what do you suggest?" 

"We oughta kill y--kkck!" 

Before anyone even saw him move, Barbecue had torn a knife from his belt and rammed it between the ribs of the Rio pirate. The body doubled over as much as the dagger's hold would let it, red bubbling from between his lips as blood flowed into his punctured lung. The inhuman glint had come to the captain's eyes again, that degenerate and violent glimmer. The Rio pirate's eyes locked on his and he felt a cold and terrible fear, not of death, but of this creature, who was worse than all death. As his vision began to wash and fade, he saw the captain's head split into a grin, and heard faintly the rasp of breathing sharply thru clenched teeth.....then he felt cold. His sight drew back, pulled away from the world, and his hearing faded, became tinny.....and was gone. 

Barbecue ripped the knife from it's nest and kicked away the dead corpse. The pirate crew was absolutely silent. Walking slowly before them , holding the claret dagger before his eyes, Barbecue asked thru his terrible grin "Would anyone else like to complain?" 

No one did. 

Content and knowing, cleaning the dagger on the sleeve of his coat, he replaced it to his belt and looked towards the main of Never Land. 

"Towards the village, you filth. And if one of you so much as whimpers, we'll see what color your blood is."   


Arriving at the village with an entire bush in tow made several redskins question just how intelligent James really was. The more optimistic of them said it was only because his brain was still fuddled from loosing it's memories, and that could be true. Some said he was a downright fool. James, the person who ought to care the most, didn't even think about it. He didn't think about much at all, truth be told. He'd discovered something quite disturbing in these past few weeks. 

That place that had given his name, that strange and dark corner of his mind that denied him entry but loomed over like a mountain's shadow, that place was not dead. It was as though someone had been buried alive in the dark soil of his mind, and now they clawed ceaselessly at the lid of their coffin. When he lingered near their hopes of salvation arose, and the struggle increased...so James did not linger. He fled from the place, he fled from his mind and it's great labarythian tunnels. He contented himself to wander the outer mazes, never coming too close, and running at the scritching of the coffin lid. But he wondered how long he could stay away. 

The village offered him mindless tasks. He carried water for the women, patched huts, and followed the girl Tiger Lilly like a dog. Her brother, Hard-To-Hit, was not nearly so interesting to him, though when he thought on the topic, it seemed odd. The two children were much alike, and if the redskins were any example, it was far more normal for men and boys to be friends that men and girl children. But he heard the scritching of that buried man, and quickly turned his attention to other things. 

In fact, he was so concentrated on not thinking he did not realize when the moment came TO think. There was a slight noise in the very near trees, something like a squirrel might make, and immediately any redskins still in the village tensed. Those present were Tiger Lilly, Blue Hawk, Deer's Sister, and a young woman named Yellow Bird, who was quite some ways into a pregnancy and rarely left the village. James saw something like sunlight off metal in the woods, but did not realize these implications until Blue Hawk bolted, shoving Yellow Bird into one of the huts and grabbing an axe out. Tiger Lilly silently dashed for her bow, and Deer's Sister, who was not one for battle, slipped into the hut with the pregnant woman, a small knife held tight in her hand. Blue Hawk shoved the handle of his own hunting blade into James's palm, and suddenly he understood. They were being attacked........ 

He felt distanced from his body, and when the pirates poured into the village he did not move. Blue Hawk bellowed and flung himself bravely into the group, knowing he would die. One, two, three pirates fell dead before one managed to slide his knife into Blue Hawk's leg, stumbling him enough that a stab in the back succeeded. Tiger Lilly's small arrows stung at the pirates but did not kill. Unable to do anything, and frightened to die, she dropped her bow and ran into the forest, away from the pirates and away from the death, tears of shame and fear on her cheeks. Still James did nothing. 

The entrance to the occupied hut was slashed open, and James watched as Deer's Sister launched out as if driven, burying the knife in the throat of the nearest pirate and having her innards halved for it. The pregnant woman was dragged out, and though James wasn't quite sure what happened, next he saw, her swollen belly had been turned inside out, and her mouth hung open in an unfinished scream. 

Then they looked to him. He dropped the knife, and felt nothing. The upturned mouths of the dead women drew his eyes, and that premature grave in his mind became violent, fists pounding the lid, soil pushing to the side, dark claws tearing thru the barrier..... 

And then thankfully, there was nothing.....for one of the pirates had knocked him out.__

_ [back][1]_

   [1]: http://www.geocities.com/draggrif/short.html



	3. three

chapter 3 Chapter 3 

As the border between forced unconsciousness and sleep quietly slipped past, his mind's labyrinth unraveled itself, and he watched with some interest as it lay stretched before him like a great sleeping serpent. He wondered if it would snap at him if he touched it. One generally does not observe one's own sleep, but on the rare occasions you may just look how everything lays out so neatly on it's side. The most complex knots and puzzles become simple ropes, but when you wake up they will quickly snap back into their frustrating and impenetrable selves. So James watched, as the tunnels and corridors lay straight, the false guide ropes sleeping by the vast body of the labyrinth. As the unraveling reached it's center he watched with some anticipation, wondering what minotaur haunted this place. But as those last walls fell, he saw no minotaur at all. Only a dark, smooth patch of earth. 

As he stared, not understanding, the pounding began, the clawing and scritching at the coffin lid. His hands flew to his ears, trying to block the sound. Without the walls of the labyrinth to hide in, there was nothing to protect him, no way to flee from the accursed coffin and it's contents. He could only watch. The soil arched, then caved, and from the dark earth a white hand reached towards the light. Escaping from it's fist flew a handful of that mind which had been hidden from him. He could see them as they flew, shades studded with broken remnants, dark and vanquished agonies that only hinted at the horror buried below. They clustered, and in a singular movement like a swarm of bees rushed at him........ 

....the labyrinth began to reform......the tunnels and puzzles reworked themselves...... 

James was waking up.   


"--I said to get up, whoreson! Get up! The captain wants to see ya!" 

The heel of a boot landed against his chest and knocked the breath out of him. The boot belonged to a great and massive man with skin the color of pen ink, who held in one hand a lantern and the other, a knife. 

"You cowardly brit, I said, GET UP!" 

The hand with the dagger closed around James's collar and dragged him up to his feet. Then he almost fell, but the knife point pressed under his chest made him quickly regain his balance. 

"Come on, filth. Follow me." 

He didn't have much of a choice. Glancing about quickly in the lantern light, he saw they were leaving a holding cell somewhere beneath the deck of a ship. _The pirate ship_ he concluded, when he was shoved out into the main hold and saw the unclean mesh of crew. There were islanders, english sailors, black men taken from slave ships, blonde haired germans, cockney rabble, and a scattering of everything else he could think of. But there was one, a glaring man of questionable origin who stood upon a wooden leg. While the others were pushed back nearly to the walls he stood in the center of the hold, watching calmly as James was forced out, and looking over the prisoner as one might examine the flesh in a butcher's window. The black man kicked James's feet out from under him and he sprawled painfully on the boards, on his belly like a worm before the pirate captain. 

"What's your name, boy?" 

Frightened, and a little confused, he said nothing. After a moment of silence the captain's wooden leg cracked him sharply in the face, spattering blood from his nose on the boards. He pulled back onto his haunches and covered his bleeding nostrils. 

"I SAID, what is your name?" 

"James." he sputtered, the taste of blood in his mouth. Oh lord, his blood! He thought he was going to be sick. 

"Ah. James. Now tell me, you are not a Piccaninny, correct?" 

James affirmed that, trying to get the blood out of his senses. 

"And yet you were in their village. I WOULD kill you as an ally to the redskins, but I find it odd you did nothing to save them while the others were being slaughtered. Why?" 

"I don't know." 

In a quick movement the captain grabbed James's hair and pulled his head back as far as it cold go, coppery blood pouring down into his lungs. After a moment of struggle he let go, and James heaved blood and acid onto the floor and lay, coughing horribly. 

"If you don't know that, perhaps you can tell us why you were with them in the first place?" 

"They took me in.....I was--I was hurt, and they helped me." 

"And yet you did not defend them? That sounds to me like an act of cowardice." 

"It wasn't!" he insisted. "I wasn't afraid! It...it was....like I wasn't even there.:.." 

Those hands reached for him again, and James ducked under, scrabbling backwards and, unfortunately, into the legs of the black pirate. The man scowled and buried just the very tip of the dagger against James's ribs, enough to draw blood but do no real damage. He shouted, and ended up somewhere between the two, frightened and still disoriented. 

Barbecue laughed "Squeals like a little pig, he does! Lets hear that again, shall we?" 

Barbecue slid his own knife out from the leg of his boot, and slowly advanced on James, grinning at the prospect of new game. Trapped between the captain and the pirates along the wall, he stared upward, and the coffin began to skritch.....the hand rose again and released it's shades, and just as the knife lowered towards the apparently vacant James he grasped something of the shadows, just a glimpse. A face. Burned over the scowl of the captain was a visage dark and familiar, which he didn't quite know, but a face his subconscious mind leaped at. The knife blade glinted in his eye, and in a sudden surge the confused fear was replaced by a desperate and seething hatred. He issued a screech of rage and launched himself at the captain, all logic gone from him into that crypt. Barbecue was taken enough by surprise that James slammed him to the ground, knocking the knife away. Before the other pirates could react to save their captain James had ripped off the wooden leg of the shocked man and slammed it into his skull. Barbecue was stronger, though, and in a moment had James flat on his back, still squirming and screeching in a manner hardly human. Both the men were bleeding now, Barbecue from a split in his scalp and James from his likely broken nose. 

And Barbecue began to laugh. 

"The little pig has fight in him after all!" he shouted, head split in two by a grin. The dark stuff of James's mind retreated as the captain let him go. The man jumped up, still poised and wary for a fight, but the captain merely stood there grinning. 

"I think you may be a madman, boy," Barbecue said cheerfully "But if you are, your a bloody fantastic one. I think I may have a proposition for you..."   


In the meantime, back at the Piccaninny village, three cold bodies had been lain side by side not far from their places of death. Deer's Sister, Yellow Bird, and Blue Hawk had been found only minutes after they had been slain, for no battle can occur on Neverland without the full knowledge of the ever wary indians. What few could understand was how it had occurred in the first place. Usually, the pirates were so loud and clumsy in their ways that even untrained ears could hear them half way across the forest. But here they had snuck right to the heart of the Piccaninny land, and not a one had heard them until battle cries sounded. Immediately the scattered indians had nearly flown back to the village. But they came too late, either to stop the deaths or intercept the pirates on their flight back to the ship. 

As a matter of pride, grown redskins never showed their tears or their sorrows. Watching the scene of their arrival one might think they had no feelings in their whole being. But one would be wrong to think that. After all, they were human, and no human, no matter how strong, is immune to misery. 

The redskins burst into the village first as a flood, then a trickle, as those further away caught up. The first to arrive were Great Big Little Panther and Black Fish, propelled by near panic ahead of the others. Those few seconds between their arrival and the next running in could well have been eternity to them. The chief looked about quickly, searching for the thing he hoped he would not find, his daughter, Tiger Lilly. Black Fish did not need to search. Emerging from the tree line he froze, each muscle tight, even breath suspended, such that he might have been a statue. He, too, had come to find what he hoped he would not, but unlike Great Big Little Panther, his hope was false. He had been drawn ahead of the others by the simple fact that he loved a woman, a woman who had married him, and a woman who was to have a child. She lay sprawled in the same hideous pose James had last seen, displayed cruelly in the path that he might not miss it. His eyes widened in an unspeakable pain, though his face betrayed nothing, and as those orbs drew in the information he loathed, time slowed for him. He had an eternity to take in every detail. The wetly glistening innards, the red slowly pooling around her, the way the sun reflected from the enamel of her teeth as she still screamed silently. 

Worlds and centuries away, more redskins poured into the clearing. His ears barely received the stifled cry of a woman who kneeled over Blue Hawk's body, suffering the same pain as himself. 

But time must pass. Tiger Lilly and Hard To Hit clung to each other while trying to stop their tears, and many of the redskins had taken on a sort of vacant expression, turning their sight inward while they struggled to control their emotions. At the risk of cruelty, one might say the village had become deathly quiet. Not a bird sang, not a mouse rustled the grass. 

Finally, the chief said softly "They must be buried. Lets take advantage of the sun while we have it." 

But to some of them, the sun was already gone.   


To contemplate Neverland is consuming and terrible, yet the fairy Tybalt found himself more and more often drawn to the topic. As he sat on the corner of a shelf in the underground house, watching two Lost Boys pretend to hunt each other, his endlessly turbulent mind saw not children but theory. And theory is something his mind could never let be. 

The boys themselves were nothing interesting. The older of the two was called Marsh, who stood tall and thin and was regrettably growing up quite swiftly. In no less than a year he would have obtained a man's stature. Already his voice was beginning to crack. The other boy was rather new, having been sent to Neverland not long after Tybalt himself had found Peter. He was small and round, as young children are, and bore the name of Nibs, though from what that sprung Tybalt knew little. Unlike the other boys, Nibs was too young for any real adventures, and Marsh was too old to want to find them anymore. As such, they had become unlikely friends. Marsh's paternal behaviors were a sad sign of his age. Tybalt was rather fond of the boy, though, and hoped Marsh would survive him, though that only granted him a few more years of life at best. 

But these boys, as they played good natured games on the dirt floor of the home, represented not boys but idea, as I have said before. Resting his chin on a delicate hand, Tybalt stared down at them with furrowed brow. And what puzzled him is this: what is a Lost Boy? Of course, simple answers presented themselves. One could easily say they are children who fell out of their prams and were not claimed for a week. And of course, they were. But they could not simply be orphans, could they? Tybalt knew from his own excursions into the world beyond Neverland that many such lost boys existed, but these children were sent to orphanages, not here. Perhaps these children were made of different stuff than regular children. Perhaps these children had originated as dreams, so their abandonment in a land of dream was a perfectly logical step. And yet, like normal children, they aged (excluding Pan, of course, but he was a different matter). So they could not be dreams entirely. What would be the purpose of that constant cycling of arrival and death if the boys were dreams and nothing more? Would it not be easier to simply change the boys instead of killing them to make room for a different one? 

But when have dreams been logical? 

With that simplest of thoughts Tybalt's entire chain of pondering was cut, and he leaned back against a jug set behind him. There was no point to puzzling over Neverland, because no logical solution could be expected! So must he think illogically? That was difficult. Maybe he would just ask Peter, who was fantastic at matters of the illogical. 

Looking down again, Tybalt saw that the game had stopped. Marsh had instead sat Nibs down by the fireplace, and was entertaining him good naturedly with string games. Oh! See that rarest form of patience that glimmered behind his eyes, that proud and content way he viewed the tiny child! Tybalt knew quite suddenly Marsh would not survive the year. He was growing up too fast. He was no longer as heartless and innocent as the other boys, seen not only in his affections but in his mannerisms. In fact, last time they had battled the pirates, Marsh had hesitated to run his sword thru the ribs of a man. Conscience only comes when innocence is disrupted. As did affection.....as did loyalty...... 

Tybalt felt quite suddenly that he would cry. His dear, heartless Peter would kill this boy for the crime of growing up. He knew that. And he knew it would mean nothing, for in a week he would be forgotten. Peter would forget he had ever been within hours, the other lost boys would follow suite, though a tad slower. Nibs might remember, at least until the others convinced him Marsh was simply a creation of the imaginary. That left Tybalt to remember, and fairies don't live long enough to perpetuate a memory like that. 

Sighing heavily, Tybalt set his wings into motion and drifted slowly downward from the shelf. His light cast shadows that conflicted with the fire over the boys' faces. Marsh gave the slightest guesture for Tybalt to settle on his lap, and the fairy happily complied, basking in the warmth of this serene and quiet moment, if only for a little while. As the flickering firelight put Tybalt under it's spell he heard as if at a distance Marsh's warm and grown up laugh.......and in only moments he had fallen asleep.   


In Neverland days and nights flow swiftly by (so that Peter might not be bored with one or the other) and soon James had spent nearly a week on the pirate ship. He still wasn't quite sure what had happened. Barbecue had snatched him away to the captain's quarters and read from a lengthy law code using terms James's hardly understood. What he did catch were the strangest things, outlining behaviors on and off ship, though wherever they would find a port city to practice them in he had no idea. Most of them sounded like good sensible rules, though punishments seemed to have been exaggerated with the intent of causing obedience by fear (or at least, he HOPED they'd been exaggerated). Then the captain had held out something like an ax, probably used in ship repairs, and made James swear on it to abide these rules or suffer said consequences. He thought this was a strange way to ensure a prisoner behaved, since it relied on his honor instead of chains and whips. But he swore it anyway. He assumed, if he did so, he would not be kept in the brig anymore, since half those rules were useless in the context of imprisonment. It was not until he was given assignments and put to work alongside the rest of the crew that he began to question the true meaning of that oath. 

He asked the boat swain, that genial irishman named Smee, about it. Or he did eventually, since anyone else he asked fell into a fit of laughter at the question. Smee did not. A little puzzled, Smee explained that oath had been an oath of loyalty to the Jolly Roger and it's crew. Whether or not he knew that at the time of swearing it didn't matter now, for he had already done it, and to go back now would be to go back on his word. Whatever else he might do, James had the oddest feeling he could never do that. But he thought miserably of the redskins, of those dead women, of Blue Hawk, and especially Tiger Lilly. 

"You best put those memories behind you now." Smee said, with a smile that would have been mocking on any other face, but was simply kind on his. "You won't see those redskins again except behind drawn bowstrings." 

And of course, Smee was right. 

It is odd how those memories clung to him, perhaps because they were all he had. After the experience where he had fought with the captain no other flashes of insight had been given by the buried coffin, and frankly, James was glad for it. He did not miss that scritching on the lid, or the terror that that lid might open and he would be consumed by the blackness that dwell within. For the first time since Neverland he held no fear for his own mind. He could wander the empty chambers as he pleased, though there was little to interest him, and the curls of the labyrinth did not all lead to an inevitable horror he must flee from. But there were nights. Fallen asleep in a rough hammock, Starkey's body suspended above him, rough boards and endless sea below, he saw things in his dreams. 

He saw that face that had been imposed over the captain's visage, but he saw others, too. He saw a lovely woman with the blackest hair and eyes he'd ever seen against so pale skin. She laughed and twirled her skirts along the edges of his vision, while before him, strange faceless dramas played out. A formless little boy sat on the lap of an old woman, listening to tales of times long ago and places far distant. Two men, drunk mindlessly, sang slurred songs and laughed at each other's clumsiness. But from the old woman's hair a pin was drawn....a decorated stiletto. The black haired woman began to scream, and from nowhere came blood. 

He often woke up then. Bolting in his hammock he knocked Starkey's backside and tumbled from the net cradle, waking not only Starkey but anyone who could hear the thud. He would draw his knees to his chest and concentrate on breathing, trying to calm his oddly terrified heart. It rarely succeeded. 

One night the dream had ended in a particularly nasty fashion, and an angry and likely bruised Starkey had sent him above deck to sleep. Shaking not with cold but with a fear that would not leave him, he quickly scuttled up the stairs and slipped thru the door, closing it as quietly as possible behind him. The deck sprawled before him, lit brightly by a moon that shone like a silver coin set up among the stars. The sails and rigging were relaxed and calm in the windless dark, providing no movement or distraction for his eyes. The sea had calmed greatly since that day. It now lay as a glossy black mirror beneath the boat. The moon and stars swirled on it's surface, disrupted by the slightest tremors in the water from some distant breeze. 

Creeping along the boards, he came to the base of the first mast, and carefully pushed away tangles of rope to clear a place for himself. Strange...he felt that odd sensation one gets when one is watched, the thing that makes your breathing go shallow and your motions pause. But it made no sense. The pirates were all asleep now, and they were too far from land for it to be anything else. He turned his face to search anyway. No one. Wait! At the ship's railings, standing so still he had not seen them, was a man whose outline was swiftly identified by a missing leg. 

"Captain!" he sputtered, pulling back a bit. "What are you doing here, I thought....I...." 

"Don't ask stupid questions, boy. It is I who should be asking why YOU are above deck." 

"Nightmares, sir. They kicked me out..." 

Barbecue snorted, and turned back towards the water. For long moments James watched the man's back. He did not seem hostile. James had learned soon after the oath that in some rare moods Barbecue was approachable, and in others, it is best to stay clear of him. He seemed to be the former at the moment. Stepping quietly in case he was mistaken, James crept beside him and followed the man's eyes. Only water. 

"...sir?" 

Barbecue sighed, and for a moment James thought he had made a mistake interrupting him. But the man did not give any hostile or reprimanding words, simply waved a hand vaguely at the sea. "Look out there, boy. Just look. What do you see?" 

"The ocean, sir." he said cautiously, wondering what the captain was heading towards. 

"It would seem so, wouldn't it. But this is no ocean any living man has seen. We could sail out forever this way, and Neverland would always be just back beyond the horizon." 

James shook his head. "That's impossible. Eventually we'd hit other land." 

"No. No, we wouldn't. Whether we sail a day or a decade, here we would always be. Trapped in place, a dream world for all time." 

Now James, who had never had any idea of where he was or what was going on in the first place, decided to say nothing. For all he knew the captain was right. 

"Peter Pan, that wretched boy, this all centers around him. Did you know that? Peter Pan and Neverland are nearly the same thing. Just neither of them know it." 

"Peter Pan?" James's memory lurched. "Oh, I've met him. Back with the redskins. He had a little fairy he called Tybalt." 

"He's had a million fairies. They love that boy, for some reason. Perhaps they're part of him, too. Maybe all magic is. What an idea! A simple boy the center of all that is magic." Barbecue noticed James's confused face, and laughed. "Oh, you don't understand. I can't expect you to. Who ever heard of such nonsense? No man sane, that is certain. And yet we've heard it. Maybe we're both mad. Ha! We could both be strapped to walls in a London sanitarium, hallucinating all of this. What a fantastic idea." In the last part the amusement left his voice, and James had the impression it was not merely a random thought that made him say this. 

The captain pointed up to the stars. "Look. Do you remember the stars before you came here? No, of course you don't. You don't remember anything. Those aren't the same stars, though. Not nearly the same stars." 

At a private thought the captain's lips quirked, but he said nothing else. They stood in silence for a long while. 

"Sir, if I may," James began, not sure if he was behaving properly or not. "I should like to go to sleep now...?" 

"Ah. Yes. You may go." 

Barbecue waved him off with a guesture of the hand, and he quickly made his way back to the mast. 

"Wait." 

James looked up, wary. 

"The boards of the deck are no place for a free man to sleep. There's a couch in my quarters." 

An uncertain moment passed as James's mind turned the statement over and pulled it all to pieces. Barbecue rolled his eyes. "Don't overanalyze everything, boy. Get in there before I change my mind and CHAIN you to the mast." 

He had no doubt the captain would do so. "Y-yes sir." he stuttered, and bowed his head with some confusion as he slunk into the captain's quarters.   


Dawn came earlier than usual that day (Peter had woken up and become bored with the night long before it was rightly over), and without the clamor of waking pirates there was nothing to bring James to. At approximately mid day his mind slowly crawled from a lazy, dreamless sleep, and he stretched happily on the overstuffed red velvet couch. The feel of the velvet made him open his eyes and a momentary panic overtook him before he remembered where he was. Across the room the elaborate bed of the captain had obviously been slept in, but now all that rested on the rumpled coverlets was a patch of yellow sunlight, fallen from a small window on the side wall. It did not yet occur to him the time, so he took a few moments to enjoy the privacy of the cabin, quite different from the usual noisy crowd of ship life. 

Something scraped against the outside wall, and he crept to the window to look out. With a dim horror he saw that the crew was already working (though on what he couldn't be sure) and by the shadows beneath them it was well past morning. Surely the captain would have woken him up in rising and dressing, but somehow he had not, and now James would surely be in trouble. He quickly tied on his boots, which the pirates had given him to replace the moccasins he'd gotten from the redskins, and crept quietly towards the door. 

He had barely more than put his head out than someone in the crow's nest called down. "So the pretty boy finally woke up! Capt'n tired you out good last night, huh?" 

There was laughter from the crew, and James felt the blood rushing to his face, even though he had no idea what they were talking about. 

"You can't assume that." replied a german boy that was missing the back quarter of his scalp. "Maybe he just finally got himself untied!" 

More laughter. Utterly confused, he became indignant "Now see here, I--" 

He paused, and put a hand over his mouth as he understood what they were laughing about. His face became an even deeper shade of claret. 

"Nothing of that sort happened, you pigeon brained fools!" he shouted angrily, hands turning to fists. "You're all a bunch of despicable, gutter minded, flea ridden imbeciles!" 

They laughed harder at his rage, then suddenly fell silent, as if some horrible shadow had fallen on deck. In a way, it had. He heard the uneven step of the captain coming up the stairs, and every man scuttled back to their duties. James was unsure of what to do, and as such did nothing, until the notable form of the captain, trailed by the somewhat shorter Smee, appeared on deck. James immediately looked at the ground, uncomfortable. 

"I see your finally awake, boy." Barbecue said dryly, and James did not miss the warning tone behind it. "We're careening the ship while the weather holds out. Follow Smee. He'll show you what to do." 

That was all. Only when he let his breath out in relief did he discover he had been holding it. The prospect of having the captain angry at you was terrible in itself, but that was not what had made him so wary. Though the crew was entirely mistaken in it's assumption about the night before, the very idea of it made James nervous and uncomfortable, especially when he was around the man and realized it was not so far a stretch of the imagination. By this time on ship, James had been a crewman long enough to see some of the darker bits of Barbecue. That horrible creature that had slain a pregnant woman was not so much a fluke as he had hoped, and in all truth, it seemed almost more natural on the man than the calm with which he had regarded James as they looked out over the false sea of Neverland. He had heard two british pirates jokingly refer to him as Captain DeSade, and though he had absolutely no idea what that meant, his mind gave the general impression, and he did not like it one bit. 

Quite before his mind stumbled towards the inevitable and far more humiliating ponderings along that line, Smee had dragged him down under the deck where a few other men were lashing crates of supplies to the walls. When James questioned the productiveness of this excersize Smee explained that to careen the ship it would have to be physically turned on it's side in the sand, and if everything wasn't tied down it went sprawling all over the place. Good logic, really, and he sat to it. Fortunately, the men he worked beside here had not heard the shouting and laughter above deck, and said nothing about the incident that had brought it.   


"Tybalt? Are you in there? Come out now, we're going to leave." 

Tybalt looked up from his tiny book, and what he saw might have frightened him had he not been accustomed to it by now. A few days previous, one of the lost boys had knocked over the jug that sat on the shelf, and with some string and paste Tybalt had stuck the pieces together into a sort of odd igloo. The broken mouth of the jug formed the entrance. Tybalt had set up a sort of home (though oddly without a bed, since he preferred to sleep curled on Peter's collar) and whenever the Lost Boys wanted him, they had a habit of looking in the jug mouth to see if he was really there. From the inside of the jug this created a most singular effect; a massive eye shadowed by fairy glow, staring down at him. 

The fairy sighed and set the book carefully on his table, which was comprised of an overturned walnut shell and a flat fragment of jug with relatively smooth edges. 

"Where are we going?" he asked, somewhat reluctant to leave his story. 

"One of the redskins spotted the pirates beaching their ship. They're planning an attack, and we're going to help!" 

"A fight? What good am I, then!?" he shouted up at the eye, somewhat irritated. "I can't fight anything, and when they see my glow, they'll know we're coming!" 

The eye vanished, and Tybalt heard "Peter! He won't come! He says he won't do any good." 

"He'll come." Peter said. Now Peter had much more skill dealing with fairies than the other boys, and instead of peeking thru the entrance he whisked the jug house off of the shelf, leaving Tybalt and his furnishings sitting there dumbly and vulnerable. 

"Tybalt, I want you to come and you'll come! None of this nonsense! Now up and follow me, will you?" 

Of course, this was exactly the right way to deal with Tybalt, who had found himself hard pressed to deny anything of Peter, especially when asked directly. Clicking his wings sharply to show he was irritated, he lifted up from the shelf. Peter nicely returned the jug house to it's proper place. 

"Lets go!" 

All the Lost Boys, who had until now been standing restlessly at their trees, hurried up them with speed and emerged at the top, rolling to their feet easily in their bearskins. Nibs, of course, stayed behind, for he was far to small to fight, and spent the rest of the day grumbling about it until he fell asleep on the floor. 

The boys met the redskins not far from the lagoon. The warriors were all painted and bearing their marks of honor. This was not a simple battle, fought because that was the way it had always been. No, this was a battle of revenge. Black Fish would lead, since his heart burned the hottest with hatred for those who had killed Yellow Bird. Even Peter stepped back and let him be. 

Tiger Lilly and Hard To Hit, as well as a few women and old men, stayed back in the village, though Tiger Lilly argued hard to go. She had revenge to extract too, revenge over James, who had just become her friend and was now (to her knowledge) as dead as the others. 

"But Father, I have to go with you! They killed James, I should--" 

"Tiger Lilly, I said no. You're simply to small." 

Great Big Little Panther took her bow from her and set it back in the hut, and gestured for her to follow it. 

"Just wait here with your brother. There is going to be a battle, and some of us are going to die. And I don't want you to be among them." 

No child could argue with that tone, so she simply hung her head and nodded. Her father kissed her and told her that she was to wait until nightfall. If, by that amount of time, the warriors were yet to return, she was to take her brother and leave the village as swift as she could. If they were not back by that time that meant they were dead. She nodded again, and Great Big Little Panther moved to leave. 

Peter, who had been nearby listening to all this, cocked his head and drifted to them. "Chief, if you all die, she can come live with the Lost Boys. We could use a girl to be our mother." 

Great Big Little Panther did not reply, but Tiger Lilly sneered at Peter Pan. She did not want to be their mother, the very idea was absurd. She wanted to be a warrior like her father. Confused by the reaction, Peter flitted off to rejoin with the rest of the Lost Boys, who waited patiently for the order to move. Tybalt was there, and stood on his shoulder, and with the distraction of his glow and the promise of battle Peter forgot about Tiger Lilly. 

The girl waited. She sat on the floor of the hut with her little brother, staring out the entrance with pure venom in her gaze. She saw the boys take flight, and the redskins begin their silent trek to the shore. They were barely out of sight before she was up, collecting her bow and arrows. 

Hard To Hit stood too "Wait, Father said to stay here! Where are you going?" 

"After them. If there's a battle to be fought, I want to be part of it." 

"But Tiger Lilly--" 

She shoved past him and out of the hut. Hard To Hit groaned and snatched up his own bow, running after her as fast as his short legs would carry him. 

It was a decision they would both regret.__

_ [back][1]_

   [1]: http://www.geocities.com/draggrif/short.html



	4. four

chapter 4 Chapter 4 

It has been stated many times that Smee was pathetic, and in all fairness, that was true. But when a job was laid before him there was nothing that could stop him from carrying out the captain's will. He could be stern and commanding, barking orders with the best of them, but as he lacked the intelligence of the best of them, he could also be unbearably foolish. Such was the case when he handed James an ax, pointed him towards a dead tree near the shore, and ordered he make a replacement plank for one that had rotted from the belly of the ship. For such an old vessel the Jolly Roger was actually in splendid shape, but as she lay on her side in the yellow sand one could see the ways of the ocean taking their toll on her body. Sea creatures clung to the sides and wood rotted with the water, and there were even several places where the mermaids had gouged at her in attempts to sink it. 

There was more than sufficient work for everyone, from scraping and cocking the hull to mending sail rends, to searching out wood to make planks. Smee gave James what he saw as the simplest task. Of course, having never been a sailor or a craftsmen (at least, from what he remembered) even the simplest task became a mystery. 

First James swung the axe at the tree as seemed proper, and the blade stuck tight in the trunk. He braced a foot against the bark and heaved with all his might, and went sprawling backwards into the sand. He grumbled some rather colorful words he had picked up during his stay, retrieved the ax, and tried again. This time he tried to simply swipe bits away from the tree, but on the third stroke he missed the tree entirely, and the ax went flying back down the beach to where one of the sails was being mended, very nearly taking a limb off one of the men. 

"Bloody fool! What the 'ell do you think your doin'?!" the man shouted, taking up the ax and waving it at James. "Are you trying to kill us???" 

"Sorry!" James shouted, and went forward to retrieve the tool. The other pirate handed it back, swearing under his breath. 

Maybe this ax wasn't supposed to be swung? James tried rubbing the blade againt the gouge he had allready made in the trunk. Except for a bit of fraying this did very little. Finally frustrated, he stuck the ax in the trunk of the tree and went to find Smee. The boat swain was perched up on the hull of the ship, dictating to the workers which planks could stay and which had to be replaced. 

"SMEE!" he shouted thru cupped hands. "Smee, how one earth do you make a plank from that damned tree!?" 

"Cut it down and hack it out!" Smee shouted back, entirely distracted. 

"I don't know how!" 

"Ask someone, I'm busy!" 

Ask someone? Admit to a crew that allready thought you were a pansy that you had no idea how to chop down a tree? It seemed preferable to simply throw himself into the ocean now and save them the trouble. James hitched his thumbs in his belt and wandered slowly back towards the tree. 

Now, how to go about this matter.....a long moment of pondering revealed to him that the roots of the tree were barely anchored in the ground at all, it had been dead so long. Feeling smug, he braced his back against the tree and pushed, and the thing fell over. That was one problem solved, anyway. Now he simply had to shape the thing into a long, thin rectangle. He pulled out the ax and stared at it. 

Oh, this was going to be entertaining. 

First, he decided the branches and roots must be gotten rid of. This was not too terribly difficult, and could be accomplished by taking hold of the branch and tapping the axe against the base until it came free. Now he had something roughly cylindrical and about half again as long as he was tall. He remembered that planks were flat on all sides, and began to scrape the blade along the top of the tree, peeling away curls. This took far longer than he had expected or realized, and as he ran the blade down yet another time someone shouted "James!" Startled, the ax slipped, and James nearly howled when it cut a sizeable gash in his palm. 

"Good lord, James, it's been three hours! Aren't you done yet???" 

He glared at Smee, who stood with his hands on his hips looking every it as annoying as he sounded. 

"No, I'm not done yet!" he snapped. "This isn't as *ow* easy as it looks!" 

"Your bleeding." Smee observed flatly. "Didn't I tell you to ask someone for help?" 

"Like I'll bloody well admit I can't cut down a tree! Not to THESE fools. You've heard what they think of me." 

Smee raised an eyebrow "I'd rather look like a fool than be bleeding, late, and STILL looking like a fool. Here, let me see the cut, it's probably got woodchips in it." 

James reluctantly held out his hand. Smee snatched it by the wrist and examined the slash thru his spectacles. 

"That'll turn to poison if your not careful. Come on then, we'll wash it out and bandage it." 

Of course Smee was right in that James DID feel the perfect fool, being led my his wrist thru a swarm of working men, holding in one hand a blood smudged ax, and the other palm open for all to see the source. Fortunatly Smee did not lead him to the boat,but up into the forest to a conveniently placed spring of clear water (there were many of those in Neverland because the fairies like them so). With an infinite care that was almost femenine Smee submerged the wound and gently removed the wood fragments with dexterous fingers. 

"Be more careful next time. A limbless man isn't worth much." Smee chided, and finally relinquished his wrist. "Don't use that hand until you find something clean to bandage it with. And rinse of that ax, it's bad luck." 

James obeyed, and felt stragnely bewildered as he wandered back towards the beach. In the time he had been gone one of the other men had renderd the dead tree into four planks and left a mess of wood chips on the ground. More than sufficiently humbled, he slunk back towards the boat to find some descreet use for himself. 

Instead of chore he was met by Barbecue, who leaned against the rotted keel looking strangely docile in a too-large linen shirt that was missing half it's buttons. From his belt hung an impressive longsword with utilitarian hilt, and wedged on either side of his waist were drab pistols, apparently loaded. His eyes scanned the forest line with an alertness entirely at odds with his slack frame. 

"What are you watching for?" James asked, momentarily forgetting Barbecue's rank. An angry flash from the captain's eyes reminded him. 

"Redskins." 

"Redskins, sir?" 

"Yes." he said calmly. In an akward limp, for his wooden leg was ungainly in sand, he came to James and examined the wounded hand, but did not comment. "If you had a memory you may recall Captain Lowether? No? Of course not. He sailed the Happy Delivery, and while she was beached on the shore for mending soldiers stormed and took her. Do you see why it was so easy? Look about you, is there any better time to overtake us?" 

James glanced quickly about the shore, and with battle in mind all he saw seemed a liability. Men were scattered, unarmed, and unattentive. Against the heat of the sun and labor most had stripped of their shirts, white or black backs perfect targets for an arrow. The sailcloth and rigging, spawled as they were on the sand, presented an obstacle of tangles for anyone rushing to arms. 

"Don't think you're safe, James." Barbecue hissed, moving to within inches of James's turned back. "You may have been friends with the redskins once, but now you are their enemy." Barbecue reached around James's ribs and pointedly ran a finger down the button line of his shirt, and James shuddered at the implications. "None will hesitate to rend you open, James. And if you try to betray me.....neither will I........" 

"I..I don't doubt it....sir..." 

Barbecue chuckled, and circled round in front of James. "I didn't think you would. Now, what are you........" 

Barbecue frowned and halted mid sentence, then turned his head ever so slightly to look over his shoulder to the forest. Whatever he had heard he apparently saw confirmation of. James followed his eyes. There, near the ground, the faintest hint of fairy glow shone out from between an enclosure that looked every bit like closed fingers. 

"Peter and the fairy." Barbecue whispered. "No one else could hold one. The redskins and lost boys will be with him. Ready yourself." 

Taking the hint to look casual, James tightened his fingers around the ax, but his stomach tightened as well. He didn't think he could bring himself to slay a redskin or a child, but if they would see him as the enemy, he may have no choice. 

Barbecue made an exaggerated guesture to the working men. Tension spread like a ripple,and hands crept towards loose tools and whatever might be used as a weapon. From the trees came a crow James would soon learn to dread, and with that both sides launched together in a fury of battle cries and flashing metal. Barebecue shrieked in exhaltation and immedialty discharged both pistols, falling two redskins in spatters of crimson on the sand. For a moment his eyes turned to James, as degenarate and cruel as the moment he had slain the redskin women in the hut, and in a flash of intimate horror James saw the true form of the captain, a monster in mockingly human form, pale mimickry of man holding basest animalisms as truth. Spurred by an irrational burst of terror James raised the ax and went swinging into the fray.   


"Hurry, Hard To Hit, it's begun!" shouted Tiger Lilly, propelling madly thru the woods towards the sound of gloriouse death on the shore. She had to be there. She had to SEE them pay for what they did to her village! She had to MAKE them pay for what they did to James! Her slender leather-clad feet carried her forward over uneven ground, thin legs burning at the sudden burst of activity. Her brother, having not yet begun the bulk of his conditioning, fell further and further behind, and whether he ever caught up with her Tiger Lilly would never know, and didn't care. 

She skittered to a halt at the tree line, feet going out from under her in suddenly loose ground and falling hard onto her backside. She made a small sound of pain and quickly scrambled up, and saw with dismay that the fall had broken the arrows held on her back. She gripped the head of one in a fist and looked out at the battle. On the ground, the redskins and pirates bled and shouted, bared torsos slick with sweat and the blood from misaimed slashes. The Lost Boys flew above, swooping like fishing birds to prick at the pirates with their swords, while the fairy Tybalt held stationary in the air, screaming warnings with ill concealed terror. 

Tiger Lilly gasped a deep breath and dashed in, running behind battling pairs to bury the tip of the arrow in the pirate's ribs, distracting him that the indian blade might strike fatal blows. She saw her father, swinging a tomahawk against a black haired man that weilded an ax with such blind fury that it made up for lack of skill. Great Big Little Panther was falling back. With a gust of angry force she launched towards him, and gouged the arrow head into the straining shoulders of the pirate. 

What happened now took only a few seconds. With a lack of caution caracteristic with those untrained for battle, the pirate turned towards the new pain with a eyes full of fear-spurred violence, and Tiger Lilly gasped as she recognised the blue eyes, the hair grown longer without tending, the pale, blue shadowed features of James. His throat opened as he saw her, but the blade of the tomahawk was instantly wedged into the bone of his shoulderblade, wretching from him the most horrible sound she had heard in her life. In almost the same instant the top half of a sword blade shot outward from the cheif's ribcage. Tiger Lilly screamed as they both fell. For the first time she was afraid, truly afraid, and she fell to her knees as impotent as if the blade had been thru her own stomach. Barbecue ripped the blade from the indian's body and quickly glanced over James's wound. It wasn't fatal. He regarded Tiger Lilly and thoughtfully smudged the blood smeared blade over her back, leaving a red trail on her buckskin....but then he had vanished back into the battle.   


"Peter! Behind you!" Tybalt shrieked, bringing up his hands to nearly cover his eyes. But he shouldn't have worried; Peter spun and deflected the pirate blade, and in the same motion slashed some distance into the man's abdomen. One of his crewmates lunged in retribution, but Peter had allready taken back to air, and left the pirate to examine the gory split. He'd begun a new game, of sorts. Peter landed, let the pirates come at him, then slash and take off before he could be hurt. Though the boy was having marvelous fun with it, Tybalt was nearly dead with fear each time he touched ground. The entire situation, in fact, seemed built to panic the poor fairy. His boys were battling with full grown men, and these men were so terrible with the fear and fury of battle that he was sure all of them would be dead by the end of it. Especially his dear Peter! While the other boys seemed to retain some common sense of what was an acceptable risk, Peter did not, and had several times come very near a bloody end. 

Tybalt had quite enough fear left, however, to become even paler when he heard a high shriek, unlike anything the pirates or redskins could make. It could only be one of the boys, since the redskins had no children in their party. He darted off in the direction of the sound, trying to pinpoint it against the twisting mass of human flesh, but he quickly noticed that all the boys were in the air and well. So who had made it? He spotted a smaller body, a redskin girl hunched over between a greiviously injured warrior and a pirate. The only redskin girl was Tiger Lilly....but the indians had left her and her brother at the village! 

Covering his ears to try to block out the sounds of battle, Tybalt dove into the mess and hovered in the hollow the girl's bent over body created. 

"Tiger Lilly, what are you doing here!? You could be killed!" he scolded, to frightened to sound angry. She made a strange whimpering sound, and the fairy realized she was crying. What had happened? When it became obviouse the girl was ignoring him, he tried to figure it out for himself. It didn't take long. Though the face of the fallen redskins was distorted with fantastic agony, he could pick out the features of Great Big Little Panther. Her father. 

Tybalt felt quite ill at that, and in a momentary panic he shot away from her and up into the sky, as far as he could go. Far enough away that the noise faded, the men became one shifting mass, and he could close his eyes and pretend they weren't there. Tybalt had never been one for action. He prefered pursuits of the mind, favoring adventure novels to actual adventures, and theatrical death in abstract than reality. But it didn't look like he had a choice. 

Damn protective instincts! He couldn't leave her down there! 

He spiraled back down and latched onto her collar. "Tiger Lilly! You have to get out of here! The pirates, they'll--" 

"I won't leave them!" She pulled Tybalt away from her and dropped him on sand that was saturated, and not with water. 

"Tiger Lilly, you don't understand! They're pirates! They've been stuck on a boat alone for as long as you've been alive, and Barbecue doesn't make them follow rules of conduct! If they capture you they'll hurt you..." 

"I said no!" 

The battle had begun to drift down the beach, away from the sails and rigging, and they were no longer pressed tightly with men. As Tybalt contemplated how he could force her away, Great Big Little Panther, who was unfortunatly still conciouse, lifted his head the smallest bit. 

"tiger lilly.....go.....i told you to stay away........" he rasped. 

"I couldn't! I couldn't leave you!" 

The noise had tapered, and suddenly came a loud cry of victory. Tiger Lilly's head snapped up to see it was not the redskins, but the pirates who waved their stained weapons in triumph. Barbecue literally danced over the bodies, bringing his sword down now and then to mutilate the faces of the dead. And those not yet. 

"Tiger Lilly, go now!" Great Big Little Panther managed to shout. She gave a sob and, with the fairy holding onto her buckskins, dashed off towards the tree line. But she had waited too long. One of the pirates got in front of her and caught her around the ribs, laughing. 

"Looks like we got ourselves a new toy, captain!" 

"Two!" shouted another, from some distance. "One of the Lost Boys lost a bloody foot! He Can't fly! Ha!" 

Tybalt panicked and lifted up into the air, trying to see which boy they had. One of the pirates held roughly in his arms the pale Marsh, who had gone the color of parchment and who's eyes rolled in only partial lucidity. One of his legs ended ubruptly above the ankle in a messy, bleeding, dirty stump. 

Barbecue cleaned his sword on the shirt of a dead pirate, and resheathed it. "Allright, you dogs! Tie up the prisoners! SMEE! Where the bloody hell are you!?" 

"Here, sir!" Smee shouted back, sniffing and rubbing at his spectacles. 

"Smee, patch up that Lost Boy, I want him kept alive. Where's James?" 

"The brit? He's dead, sir, axed in the back." Starkey said with some confusion. 

"Did anyone think to CHECK HIM???" 

"N-no...." 

As general policy, if someone was greiviously injured after a battle they were left with the dead to be carried off by wolves or by the tide. Why should it be any different now? Barbecue back handed Starkey all the same and went stalking down the beach. James was, of course, where he had left him, sprawled on his face in the sand. The captain ripped open the back of James's shirt and peeled the soaked material back from the wound. 

"It's not too bad. Fool probably fainted." Barbecue hauled James up in his arms as if he were nothing more than a child, and as an afterthought, glanced down at the indian cheif that was glaring at him, entirely impotent, from the sand. "Someone come get this fellow, too. We have a game to play with the redskins, hm?"   


James Remembered. He remembered long crowded streets and coal smoke, eternal rain that worked the gutters and the high cries of flower girls that worked on his street corner (though they often stayed on well past the night hours, selling quite some more than flowers). He remembered rushing thru the crowds, a parcel under arm and checking again that his hat was right, his coat was right, and his shoes were right. Not that Annabell cared about such things, it was himself that was concerned with this vanity and form. He ran up to the front stairs of a somewhat middle class home and forced himself into composure as he rapped the door thrice, politely. 

Annabell's mother answered, and allowed him admittance immediatly. He spoke to her only as long as form dictated, and waited nervously for Annabell to come down from her room (it would be rude to enter a lady's chamber, after all). 

She came. A dream vision of dark hair and eyes, formal skirts and bracelets. She would speak to him in the parlor......   


.....wet rot, dirt, wood smoke, hot metal, coppery tints and a whispy stench of seared tissues. James awoke with a jerk and choked on the burning smells, eyes unadjusting to the darkness. There was some light, though....low fire, heat more than light. 

"Be calm, you'll hurt yourself." came Smee's voice, in it's most gentle but authorative tone. 

"What..." 

"Just lie still. On your stomach, there you go. This is going to hurt, but a little pain will save you a lot later on." 

"What are you doing?" 

"Sealing that shoulder wound. Good thing you came around before, or you might have awoken to a nasty surprise." 

"Smee....Smee, I remembered something...." 

"Shh. Later." 

There was movement in front of the fire, and he thought he saw something be lifted out of it. That burnt coppery smell struck him even stronger. In the darkness, a point of red light approached him. 

"What....no. Put that away, you're not going to--" 

"Quiet. The lost boy took it without a whimper, I expect no less from you? Lie still." 

"What lost boy?" 

Smee didn't answer him this time. A hand pressed into his back, flattening his chest against the wooden boards beneath him, and the red point moved out of his vision. 

Up on deck, Barbecue heard a shrill scream of pain, and wondered absently which one had made that sound. From the unpleasant smell that drifted up thru the boards he had gathered that Smee was burning the wounds closed on the prisoners. He knew the indian cheif was too well trained to make any sounds of pain, and the lost boy didn't seem aware enough to even jump. Good Lord, did that mean James was making that sound? Hm. That boy could certainly bellow when he had a mind to. 

He absently scratched his leg right above where the wooden one started, and looked out across the gently moving waves. The sun was nearly set now, stringing red out over the water, and he thought it looked like a sea of blood. Damn, it had been a good day. Nothing put him in a better mood than a good fight, and despite the fact it had been predictable and at a poor time, it had been a teriffic skirmish. Of course, a lot of men had been lost, but that hardly mattered. In the morning another batch would wake in the hammocks, and the crew would go on as if they had always been there. For a moment Barbecue felt cold slip down into his innards. It was the same feeling one gets after the Epiphany, that one is living in a world of stage props and maniquens, and wondering if thats what you are yourself. He quickly shoved it away. He was where he was, whether or not any of it was real didn't matter. He was in control. THAT was what mattered....wasn't it? That he was in charge? In charge of a ship full of dreams..... 

_ [back][1]_

   [1]: http://www.geocities.com/draggrif/short.html



	5. five

hook Chapter 5 

For a good three hours Tybalt hid under the breast of Marsh's shirt, trying to limit his glow by lying quiet and still and breathing slowly. The skin under him was cold and slick with sweat. Had it not been for the pained, noisy breath of the boy Tybalt might have thought him dead. Perhaps Peter wouldn't be the one to kill him after all. 

When things had been quiet for what seemed a long enough time, Tybalt warily raised his head over the boy's collar. They were someplace dark and cool, a little damp from the smell of it, and bearing no light at all to see by. He took the chance of discovery and powered his wings to light the room himself. His glow was hardly sufficient, but like the vast structures of a monster's city the wet wooden walls appeared in shadow. The ceiling could not be seen, and neither could the far end of the enclosure. A quick exploratory flight revealed a wood frame and metal bars. A cell. A cage. The lock was a heavy iron mess that he could not loose with his hands. Though he himself could get free easily by slipping thru the bars, there was no way to open the cell for Marsh. Of course, once he thought about it, even that would be pointless since the boy was unconscious, and even if he wasn't he could not walk. Tybalt gave a puff of frustration and circled back to check over the prisoner. He was laying on the floor near the back wall, the trousers cut from his leg and said leg set on a folded blanket to keep it from the boards. The fairy snuck in close to examine the wounded limb but the lingering stench of charred flesh drove him back with a powerful wave of nausea. 

At least he wouldn't die of it. That was some consolation as the fairy settled back on his shoulder. The pirates had cauterized the wound before the interior flesh began to die, and the only path open to infection now was if the flesh was reopened over the burn. But on a more realistic note, an infection wouldn't have to kill him. Barbecue might take care of that. Tybalt sighed and absently stroked the slick jaw of the wounded child. Marsh didn't deserve this fate. None of his boys did. And neither did the indian girl! 

His thoughts turned to her in a sudden panic. He had to find her and make sure she was all right. Marsh would be fine until he got back, assuming no one interfered. He quickly kissed the boy's eyelids and willed him by fairy magic to sleep more deeply, then flew out of the cell and in search of Tiger Lilly. 

In the meanwhile, Barbecue had taken on an aspect seen by no one before, or at least, no one who lived. The sunset, casting a bitter red tinge over his visage, lent a surreal glow to everything. Barbecue looked guardedly over his shoulder with wide eyes, and could see the wires and pulleys that rocked this ship. Had he reached out his hand he could have touched the painted silk backdrop of the sky and the sea. Below, he could sense the crew going about their business, filthy mannequins on rail tracks. 

He remembered what someone had said to him, very long ago. 

"Reality is subjective, John. You must learn to understand that. What one believes to be real is real, like a fakir's levitation or a seance's ghosts. It is only when one looks behind the curtain does one see the mirrors and wires." 

The part his friend had left out is that once you've looked behind the curtain, it's never real again. You can fool yourself into thinking the ghosts are really there, but in the back of your mind you will always know they are not. Sometimes he wondered if there was another curtain behind the first, hiding what was REALLY there...hiding everything...... 

Barbecue groaned and covered his head, shutting his eyes against the falsehoods around him. Was nothing real? This dream, this heaven, this hell, this Never Land.....it was a mirror in front of a curtain, pulled back to reveal pale workings of mechanistic fantasy, a view of reality. But what if, behind that reality, there was another curtain....and the real world beyond here wasn't real either? Barbecue suddenly wanted to go below deck, take the gin, and poison his brain into submission. But he couldn't, not without loosing face to the crew. But what did it matter if a ship of dreams thought poorly of him? He couldn't bring himself to do it. He didn't need forgetfulness, he needed something real. Something he knew without a doubt was the true reality. 

And there was only one person on ship he could think of.   


Tybalt flew, translucent wings clicking against the air, and drowning in an overwhelming sense of urgency. There were six cells in the brig, and with his humble size and meager glow it took two circles around the perimeter to discern whether the cell was inhabited or not. In the fourth cell something bright caught his glow and reflected back to him, and he circled down around it. The reflections had come from the glass beads sewn to the hem of Tiger Lilly's buckskins. She was curled on her side, asleep from the exhaustion of terror and fighting, with a hand lain carefully over her father's arm. The chief was laying on his back, the terrible sword thrust now a scorched swell of a most alarming color. His copper skin was greyish from the blood lost and he seemed infinitely more frail than he had before. But he was safe. 

With a heavy breath of relief Tybalt assessed the damages, and did the same favor for them he had done for Marsh. Uneven breathing became deep and regular, muscle twitches calmed and taught shoulders relaxed. Confident they would be all right the fairy slipped out from the cell and returned to his boy.   


The pain of Smee's attentions had sent James immediately back into a calming void of unconsciousness. Annabell, her motions graceful and fluid, closed the white parlor door behind them and turned, suddenly coy. 

"What did you bring me?" she asked, brushing a delicate hand against the package he held. 

"Close your eyes, and I'll show you." 

She obeyed. God, she was beautiful, standing like a doll with her face tilted up, perfect had he wished to steal a kiss. He wished it, but did not, instead untying the package and lifting it's treasure out carefully; a necklace of carved tortoise shell and gold, certainly not a gift even slightly adequate for so beautiful a lady, but the best even he could afford. He reached around her slender neck and fastened it at the back, trying not to touch her and succeeding. Her eyes opened when his hands drew away, and her chin tilted down to see the gift. She gasped (such a pleasing sound!) and flung her arms around James's neck. 

"It's beautiful! Thank you!" she said, and his cheeks colored from her proximity. 

"Er, you're quite welcome..." he fumbled, and backed out of her embrace nervously. She did not seem to notice his discomfort and sidled up next to him, pinning him between a couch and the side of her hips. He lost his balance and fell backwards onto the velvet cushions. Annabell sat on his sprawled legs and giggled at his now entirely red face. 

"Aw, James, an Oxford education and you still don't know how to deal with a lady?" 

He didn't say anything, and she leaned her corseted waist into him, pushing him even further down until his shoulders braced against the wall. 

"Hrm, e-excuse me!" he said suddenly, and crawled out from under her, standing bolt upright and tugging the edges of his coat. Annabell laughed and lay down on the couch. 

"Poor, educated man. You know so much and live so little. Why do you think that is?" 

"Because I am a gentleman." was all he could think of in reply. 

"I'm sure." she said, and what exactly she meant by that he didn't have the nerve to ask. 

One of her hands trailed up to her hair, and withdrew the pins and combs keeping it in it's formal shape. "I hate hairpins." she murmured, and raised her head enough to shake her hair loose. It tumbled down in elegant black curls and rested at her throat, on the cushions, and a single curl that curved to her cheek so endearingly. James swallowed and made himself look at something less interesting, like the clock on the mantle. A slight brush at his waist made him jump, and he looked down to see Annabell slipping one of the black combs into his trouser pocket. 

"So you don't forget me." she explained. 

_That could never happen._   


When the Lost Boys returned home, battle worn, irritable, and scratching at cuts, they found the small Nibs sprawled out in a most unseemly fashion right at the foot of the trees. The Lost Boys tried to step over him but the motion woke him anyway. His little pink hands rubbed his eyes and he propped himself up on an elbow. 

"Marsh?" he asked, in his tiny, innocent voice. 

The Lost Boys glanced around between them, and there was no Marsh to be found. 

"Where is he?" Peter asked, looking over the boys. "Did we lose him? Or was he killed?" 

"I didn't see him go down." one replied. 

"Tybalt isn't here, either. Do you think they're both dead?" said another. 

Nibs looked blank for a moment, then put a row of knuckles to his mouth and began to cry. One of the older boys elbowed the speaker for his carelessness with the matter. Peter himself took on a suddenly pale coloring at the mention of Tybalt. He hadn't thought one bit about the fairy after the poor fellow had stopped yelling directions at him. In all truth, if he hadn't been brought up now Peter might never have remembered him again. 

"We have to go back to the beach." he said with sudden resolution. "If Marsh and Tybalt are among the dead, we won't think of them another minute. But if they're not, Barbecue has them." 

"What will we do if he does?" 

"Get them back, obviously." 

The Lost Boys looked at each other uncomfortably, and Nibs continued crying. Having just lost a battle with the pirates they were in no mood to go after them again, and were rather sore and uncomfortable with their aches and bruises. They would rather have slept and looked thru the bodies in the morning. No one dared voice that. 

"Caps, Ledger, you stay here with Nibs. The rest of you, come with me." 

A collective groan filled the underground house, but they all slid up their trees obediently. Caps and Ledger watched them go. Their eyes followed in unison to the small boy curled on the floor crying, to each other, and to the bed. They collapsed onto the mattress without a second thought.   


Vague murmurs of the waking world pushed thru to James's addled mind, and slowly he was drawn back into it. His fingers stretched of their own accord across the floorboards.....but it was not floorboards they found. What they brushed was soft, dry, and yielding under his fingers. This unexpected discovery pulled him into awareness, and with some difficulty he opened his eyes. It wasn't brilliant morning (thank god) but there was light, soft illumination from a single lamp, giving enough light to see but not to pick out details. The lines and shadows that greeted him seemed vaguely familiar, like a place you passed once and never looked at again. 

A desk. He saw the writing desk and suddenly he knew exactly where he was. Only one writing desk was on ship, and only one person had the knowledge to make good use of it. Barbecue. He was in the captain's quarters. James jerked back suddenly, ignoring brilliant protests of pain from his shoulder, and to his dismay found his suspicions were true. He was laying on his belly on the captain's bed. James slumped down against the mattress anyway, too tired to move himself, even across the room to the couch. Despite the fact he knew the crew to be wrong in their beliefs about him and the captain, the very rumor of it was enough to make him edgy, and being in the man's actual bed was infinitely worse than sleeping on his couch. 

But then again, the mattress WAS very comfortable.....and the pillow was soft......the light was dim enough for sleep.....it wouldn't hurt to stay just a little while, would it? If he left he was awaited by unpleasant crew quarters and a hammock that couldn't possibly be used comfortably when one could not lay on the back. This bed had no such limitations. And he WAS tired still . . Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea. Barbecue was nowhere in sight, and he doubted the crew was up to find suspicion in his location. At ease now, he arranged the pillow under his head and stretched his legs out over the comforters...... 

. . . . 

That certainly wasn't right.... His bare feet had come in contact with a splintery stick of wood. He nudged it experimentally and it did not move. Curious, he raised his head to look over his shoulder. The wood was connected to something, and that something was the end of Barbecue's stumped leg. The dusty man was sitting cross legged on the end of the bed, fingers steepled in front of his lips and watching silently. He must have been there the whole time. Why hadn't he said anything? 

There was something quite strange with his eyes. They betrayed not really pain, since Barbecue did not experience pain in it's purest essence anymore, and something not really fear. They seemed almost pleading, but very withdrawn. He still did not speak as James sat up to face him. The tissues in his shoulder pulled different ways, and he flinched at the sensation. 

It was silent for a moment. Barbecue's shoulders went slack and his gaze became less frightful. 

"James, what are you?" Barbecue said, and his voice sounded hollow, dying on his lips and delivering only strange corpses to James's ears. 

"I-I don't know." was all he could think of to say. He didn't really understand the question. 

The captain sighed, as if the answer had satisfied him. Indeed it had. James looked at him in puzzlement, but the captain relaxed and seemed to dismiss the incident. 

James did not. "Why did you ask that?" 

Barbecue gave a sad sort of smile. "No real man knows who or what he is....no one." and he leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes, as if the answer had been sufficient. 

"I don't understand." James said. 

"Be glad for that." 

"Why?" 

"Because if you did....." Barbecue did not finish the sentence. He leaned forward again, and looked very intently at James. "Things aren't always what they seem to be. Mirrors can be windows, walls can be doors.....and dreams aren't always when you sleep......" 

Perhaps in a more alert state of mind an explanation could have been useful, but in his present semi-awake state nothing could make him understand this abstract concept. Barbecue sensed that from his blank stare, and realized he must resign himself to be alone in his present misery. He forced a smile and said "Go back to sleep, James." 

James shook his head, remembering where he was. 

"Lie down. Now. That's an order from your captain." 

The man hesitated a moment, then cautiously slid onto his stomach, head down on the pillow. Though he intended only to feign sleep, the attempt was futile. In less than a minute he was drowsing peacefully. At his feet Barbecue watched him, comfortable in the knowledge that in a ship of waking dreams there was one other person of reality. The candle was burning low now, and would put itself out soon. No need to worry about it. He closed his eyes against the world of footlights and paste board walls and silk backdrops, and listened only to the peaceful sound of James's breathing. 

And all was calm.   


Back on the shores of Neverland, Peter and his boys had reached the sight of the battle. Already the waves had cleansed the beach of blood, lapping at it incessantly in a cold vampiric thirst, foam crested tongue tugging the boots of those who fell too close to the edge. A wide moon gave eager illumination to the sands, admiring its own reflection in the milky depths of dead, staring eyes. The boys lingered in the air above. Battle was one thing, adrenaline and action and short lived consequences, but wandering the aftermath of said battle was an entirely different matter. Normally, waves or wolves or repulsed child dreamers rid the landscape of the dead long before Peter ventured back again. This time they hadn't had a chance to. 

"Are we going down?" asked one of the boys nervously. 

"In a minute." Peter replied, crossing his arms in his perfect cocky stance. He looked far more confident than he felt, which was the purpose. "We have to see if everyone is really gone." 

They accepted this eagerly enough. None were too rushed to view the bodies up close. Unfortunately, stalling in this manner could not drag out indefinitely, and at some point Peter had to lead them downward. He nodded stiffly and took a deep breath. 

"All right then. It looks clear. Come on." 

He spiraled in descent, not wanting to give his nerves a chance to desert him. The boys followed some distance behind. As they approached, the sprawled bodies grew larger and larger against the moon-silvered sand, and the gaping mouths cut into the stomachs and chests glistened wetly and red. Small feet touched into the damp sand silently. Boys cringed and shrunk together as they became part of the landscape, and it could not be said poorly of them if they had simply flown off ; they were only boys, after all. Even Peter looked affected. He had landed next to a particularly nasty specimen, with two eyes that stared knowingly at him but with no face from which to stare out of. Bone and muscle structures lay exposed, with one row of perfect white teeth, under which a tongue dropped almost comically into the neck. Whatever jaw he'd had was quite absent now. 

"S-start looking for Marsh and T-Tybalt." he ordered, teeth chattering, though he wasn't cold. 

The other boys fanned out some, jumping nervously over bodies. It took an hour for them to scan the whole beach in their flighty and time consuming method, but when they met back in the middle to report, none had seen the boy or the fairy. 

Now, in any normal adventure, would have been the time he would have puffed himself bravely and led the others on a glorious rescue mission. But this time he was (though he would never admit it) afraid. Mortality was not something he even considered usually, because though Tybalt sometimes recited long monologues on the briefness of life and the inevitable end of all living things (mostly when he had a point to prove to Peter) it had never seemed to apply to him. How could it? Here was he, a boy who had lived and seen a hundred summers and fatherless more ahead of him, who had wrestled death countless times and always emerged triumphant. Death occurred to other people and other things, not him. 

But what if it did? 

He closed his eyes a moment to try and banish the thought. He understood now why Tybalt always worried about him so when he went adventuring. Being a fairy, Tybalt must understand death quite well. Their lives were so short and so hurried. How did they live with the knowledge of their impending demise? 

"Peter...?" 

He looked up from his silent meditations into the frightened eyes of his boys. They were waiting for him to take charge. For once, he wished someone else would take the mantle.   


Elsewhere, as the first stars began to disappear from the sky in anticipation of the sun, things were not all right. Tybalt sat with his knees curled to his chest in the sweaty hollow of Marsh's throat. Under long eyelashes, brown eyes flickered back and forth in a fevered dream, and Tybalt watched, strangely hypnotized and feeling altogether ill. The boy would be waking up soon enough, and what would happen when he did? Would he be lucid? From the burning of his skin and the patches of red and white it didn't seem likely. His fever was terrible. 

But what could be done? 

Feeling intolerably useless, Tybalt laid his chin against the coarse fiber material of his tiny vest. He couldn't help this boy, he couldn't get him free, he couldn't even comfort him properly when he woke up. But wait...he looked at the vest and an idea came to him, albeit a small one (after all, he had a small mind). The fairy quickly shucked the cloth and took up into the air, holding the vest. Maybe if he could find some water on board, and soak his vest, he could use it to cool the boy's skin a bit. It was worth a try, at any rate. He flitted thru the bars and dashed out into the main hold. 

There were two barrels he could find. One had a sealed lid, and had a terrible stench about it he thought must be alcohol. The other had a small hole at the edge that the handle of a drinking ladle came from to rest on the side. That had to be water, if anything was. He landed carefully near the hole and pressed himself to the handle, latching his feet around it. As he slowly slipped down the worn metal, the wooden edge of the barrel lid met with his wings, shoving them up against the back of his head and refusing to let him pass. He went down head first next try, but the unfortunate result of this was dropping the vest, which he instinctively clutched for, and ended up falling down with a wet slap into the black water below. 

"HAALP!" 

Never in his life had Tybalt ever learned to swim, and it was good for him that there was no one around to hear his squeaking. Sputtering, he slung himself over the edge of the ladle and shivered. He was cold, wet, and had lost the vest, and to make matters worse, he could not get a firm grip on the handle to climb back up. His wings hung like wet paper at his back and he was almost afraid to move about, lest he tore them. His glow grew dimmer as he sat and shivered, dimmer, until it was barely there at all. 

An image of Marsh flashed in front of his eyelids, and Tybalt jumped, creating a sudden spurt of light. He had to get out. Marsh was waiting, hurt, feverish, likely awake now. He needed to be there. Tybalt made himself stand of the slippery shallow curve inside the ladle and latched his hands around the handle again. The metal was slick as it was before, and no matter how tightly his wet fingers gripped it, he could not move upward. Maybe....yes, that might work. He tore the lower cuff off his trouser leg and squeezed out the water, and wrapped it around his hands. The coarse material made enough friction that he could climb, slowly, sliding down a bit every time he paused. When he reached the lid he grabbed onto that and hauled himself the rest of the way up. 

All that, and he still didn't have anything to keep Marsh cool. And he was soaking wet to boot! He reached behind himself and grabbed the tips of his wings, pulling them out to look at them. The thin material between veins was damp and clingy, and they stuck together into two long sticks from his shoulders. THAT must be why he had never learned to swim. Grumbling to himself, he sat down on the lid and began the annoying task of putting them right. 

Of course, since things tend to make a mess of themselves in Neverland, it was at this time that Peter and his boys found the ship. Noise above the boards brought men out from their bunk, and Tybalt cowered on the lid while they ran past, not seeing him. Amidst the chaos above he heard the crow of Peter. Peter! His chest lightened and he began to pump his wings, scattering water droplets and drying them quite effectively (though why he hadn't thought of this sooner we cannot know). He managed to lift slowly into the air and, becoming more sure of himself, aimed towards the stairs and the exit. 

Just as he reached the border between deck and hold the wooden trap door was kicked shut, cracking against his forehead and knocking him down into the stair. He simply lay on the wood for a moment, dazed, before bringing a shaky palm up to his skull and feeling carefully. He would have a nasty bruise pretty soon but he didn't think he was hurt too badly. Tybalt slid down under the stairs in case anyone decided to come back down and listened to the sound of the fight, shaking for a reason he wasn't quite sure of. His glow flickered like a candle in a window while he sat there, and his eyelids fluttered several times while he struggled to catch them. He felt cold again. Oh, now this simply wasn't fair! How could all these terrible things be happening when all had been so pleasant before? He cursed the pirates, the redskins, and even his Lost Boys while his brain fogged over. In only a few moments he failed to catch his closing eyes, and lay sprawled backward on the boards. 

The thin blue fairy glow went out.__

_ [back][1]_

   [1]: http://www.geocities.com/draggrif/short.html



	6. six

Note: Several elements of this story were recycled into the story The Subtlety of Nightmares, mainly Caps, Ledger, and Tybalt. I reread this hoping for more character information on Tybalt, and discovered that the majority of Chapter 6 was already written in the file. I couldn't help but put it up. This chapter, and indeed, all of this story, were written when I was 16 years old; please take it in that context, and remember, it doesn't reflect my current abilities ^_^  
  
The addition of another chapter after three years doesn't mean this story is being picked up again. It is still an unfinished work. However, it does increase the chance that the whole thing will undergo a complete overhaul at a later date and be presented in its entirety then. -_-;  
  
This chapter has warnings of violence and perversion on the part of Barbecue.  
  
Chapter 6  
  
Barbecue dreamed.  
  
He dreamed of the old stone streets of Marseille, of the steady thump of his very good boots with his own very good feet inside of them. He dreamed of the low slung streetlamps with their wavering panes of glass, of their black iron poles and steady burning flames that suckled from reservoirs in their bases. He dreamed of the awkward shadows that cropped from every surface and trailed like flags in the breeze. And, of course, there was Pavre, the lewd and lowly sort of creature who looked more at ease in the deeper shadows than any man had right to. He didn't shave as often as he might, and his hair was uneven with a greasy dullness to it. For some off reason, John liked him. Pavre always walked silently, a few steps forward and left of his companion, as though he wanted no concrete association between them to whoever might look on. Fortunately this also cleared Barbecue of any crimes by association (Pavre was knows for his sticky fingers).  
  
This night he seemed less worried over witnesses than usual. They were granted leave of two days in Marseille while the Peronella gorged her belly on hard tack, oil, flour and salt beef. Pavre had made a sport of the two days, and it was with the faintly veiled clarity of opiates that Barbecue followed him through the ribbons of stone that hatched the city.  
  
Was it red? No, it was a white lamp they met the fisherman under, with his great bulk and his broad hands clamped like claws over his son's shoulders. His little boy looked up at them with wide and pale eyes, like white roses; bleached and empty of color, of life, and of youth. Pavre had been expecting to meet this man. He reached into his bottomless pockets and drew his coin purse, dropping a moon of French silver into the father's heavy palm. The man released his son.  
  
The boy was trained by now and didn't run away, but Pavre latched a hand around his small arm anyway and, smirking at Barbecue, followed the fisherman back along the curling streets to a building of renting rooms with a white swan painted above the door. Pavre steered the boy thru the door and into the partial darkness. The fisherman turned to look at Barbecue questioningly. Barbecue shrugged and stared at his feet. After a few moments, the fisherman frowned and followed Pavre inside to keep watch.  
  
Barbecue's mind felt very warm. It was an odd sort of warm, that was somewhere between being curled up in your mother's lap and biting into the shoulder of a squirming, crying girl. He wondered just what had been in those bitter lumps of sugar Pavre had stuck between his lips and told him to suck. It wasn't necessarily a bad feeling, just different from those sour pipes that burned the dark resin, and the sensation was taking a very long time to wear away. He had to remember to ask Pavre after they were finished here.   
  
It wasn't a very long wait (it never was where Pavre was concerned) before the fool came traipsing out, reddened on the cheeks and mouth and disheveled, out of breath. Pavre nodded towards the door and scratched himself.  
  
Barbecue went inside.  
  
It was James whom the battle woke first. The strangeness of this is the fact that James had been known to sleep through midnight oceanic storms, while Barbecue often bolted awake at the sound of one man coughing in the quarters below. This time James had the good sense and memory not to startle at discerning his location, though he was a bit unnerved when he realized the weight on his spine was not his imagination. Sometime during the night the captain had sprawled out beside him, as casually as if he were his wife, and one of his thick arms lay across James' back.  
  
A round of pistol fire was answered with a crowing war cry, and James bolted up. He didn't even have time to flinch at the pull in his shoulder; at the very motion Barbecue had woken to life and instinctively grabbed both the man's wrists, twisting his arms quite painfully behind him. James let out a squeal (a sound he wasn't particularly proud of but couldn't hold in) and only a moment later the captain released his hold. He neither apologized for the reaction or fumbled to justify. Instead he stiffened to attention and listened to the exchange outside.  
  
"It's the damned Lost Boys!" Barbecue spat, sounding for once in his life irritated at the prospect of battle. He shoved James back against the headboard and scrabbled past him over the edge.  
  
Unfortunately, the straps holding Barbecue's false leg to his stump had worked themselves loose during the night, and he hit the boards, his leg going out from under him. James was sure the resulting oaths could be heard all the way to the mainland. Before James could so much as ask if the captain was injured he had cinched the strips again and was up, snapping up his pistols that hung by the door, and with a flash of light from the blasphemous golden dawn he had slipped from the cabin.  
  
It was dark again.  
  
Shameful to say, James's first reaction was to go back to sleep. His addled brain saw no reason to get up as long as the room was dark and the bed was soft. The walls and door muffled the shouts and clashes from his ears, and he flicked the ends of the blanket up over his head to further kill the sound. One second passed, then two, and some body was thrown against the exterior wall of the cabin, shuddering the boards and startling James into jumping. That did it. He was awake now, no matter how hard his mind fought it. With a groan he kicked the coverings away and raised his head up from the o-so-inviting pillow.  
  
One would think the short journey to the door would be simple, even for someone in James's condition, but it was not the act of walking over so much as the idea of it that really impeded him. The previous day had been so wonderfully marked by becoming intimate with the sharp end of an ax not once but twice, and he felt that that should rightly grant him whatever time he wished to spend sleeping for himself. Walking to that door and acknowledging there was a fight would ruin that.  
  
He heard someone shriek, and the redskin war cry.  
  
Today he really hated having a conscience.  
  
Mumbling things that were none too pleasant James swung his legs over the side of the bed and set his feet against the floor. That accomplished, he tried to stand on them. This was his mistake. No sooner had he become upright that the world bucked beneath him and he fell back onto his rump, fortunately padded by the mattress. His shoulder remembered to lodge a complaint, as well, to remind him that it was still as gaping and harassed as ever, and was it really a good idea to be up and about?   
  
More determined than ever he stumbled towards the door, burst it open with his palms, and tumbled blindly into the wretched sun.  
  
Barbecue looked like the devil himself stepping forth from the mouth of black hell. His dark hair was violent in its chaos and in the new dawn, just for a moment, his eyes caught the light and flashed a most vile perversion of the sacred gold. Immediately the pistols went up and the hammers fell. One ball missed its target and burst thru the rigging. The second skipped against a boy's shin, deflecting so neatly from the bone that it left only a welt in its passing (as well as a thin crack, but the boy would never find out and so it never mattered). The captain snarled at the ineffectiveness of his shots, and ripped the sword out of the hands of another pirate.  
  
Peter was not in the mood for games and made no waste in descending down to the captain's level, sword held at ready and little teeth gnashing.  
  
"What have you done with my friends?" he demanded, slinking down to a defensive position. Barbecue, who held the advantage of both height and reach, stuck the tip of his own sword in the deck and leaned on it with amusement, the metal bending under his weight. There were few things Peter hated more than being taunted, and Barbecue knew it.  
  
"Your friends?" The captain smirked. "You mean that bloody little boy in the brig? The pretty little redskin girl? Those friends?"  
  
Peter growled "Let them go now, and I'll give you a fighting chance before I kill you."  
  
"Oh, well isn't that kind of you? All the same, I think I'll have to pass." The taunt fell from his voice. "I don't play games, Peter. When I take something, it's for keeps."  
  
The sword came out of the deck and leveled itself at the height of Peter's throat. Despite the struggle that went on around him Peter should be thankful that was all he saw, not the monochrome memories slipping across the backs of Barbecue's eyes. Peter pulled back from the Captain's blade and raised his to a fighting stance, but he didn't get a chance to meet the edges. Before either party could initiate attack the door behind Barbecue burst open. James stumbled, fell into the captain's back, and landed them both flat on their bellies on the deck.  
  
"JAMES, GET THE BLOODY HELL OFF ME!" Barbecue bellowed, already trying to get up but impeded by the weight. James rolled and stood up, confused and blinking in the light.  
  
For the moment Peter had the full advantage, and he took it. The point of his sword was pressed hard against the stubbled throat of the captain before the man could crawl to his feet. Barbecue's eyes flashed cold, then fiery hot again in an instant, and under that glare Peter wavered. Barbecue's eyes flickered to a point behind him, and Peter knew well enough what it meant. He turned to see his attacker but a moment too late, for James' fist was already an inch from his head, knocking the boy to the deck. The other Lost Boys were shouting insults at the captain while they themselves still eluded their opponents, though the ferocity of it had dwindled to a skirmish, both pirates and boys being tired and irritated by the hour.  
  
"I do believe this means I've taken another prize." the captain said with a silky tone, pressing his sword point to Peter's breast. Peter flipped from under the blade and shoved Barbecue's sword tip into the deck.  
  
"Not yet, you haven't. Come here and fight me like an honest man."  
  
The Captain chuckled "Whoever said I was an honest man?"  
  
In the brig below, Great Big Little Panther dreamed.  
  
He stood upon the frozen grass without his moccasins, sharp crystals of ice crushing beneath his heels and creeping up his legs like insects. To the sides of him rose thick trees, each one traced with slithering paths of silver ice, and each motionless leaf frozen glossy and thick to it's stem. Above, the sky was empty. He stared a moment, mystified by that vast darkness of a black universe.  
  
The stars were not in the sky. The stars were in the trees.  
  
Each little light sat quivering and quiet along the silent trunks of the trees, whispering softly in a twinkling language he didn't know how to understand. Every time he stopped to stare the sharp little crystals made it just a little bit further up his legs, and he knew he was not supposed to linger. The trees had made themselves into a thin and uneven corridor, the end of which was mysterious beyond a tangling of frosted branches. The cold pressed hard against his bared body and made his skin so beautifully senseless, that kind of infectious numbness that made one want to embrace it and sleep. He ignored it.  
  
The end of the path confronted him. He brushed the wood with his fingertips and the branches writhed and suffered with the heat of his body, curling back in upon themselves like punished children. The path was now clear, and Great Big Little Panther stepped forward.  
  
There was nothing there. The path only rounded to a strange and crooked end, the trees stretching up to form a canopy above him. Great Big Little Panther wandered to the center and looked about himself warily. He was alone.  
  
"...Panther......"   
  
Was it possible to startle a Piccanniny? If it was, he didn't show it. His eyes only went a little wider in his head.  
  
"Who's there?"  
  
"I am, idiot. You can hear me, can't you?"  
  
The voice reminded him of dragging his palm through the sand on the young shores of the beach. It was rough and cold, and caught in fragments in the speaker's throat. He wasn't sure he should listen to it.  
  
"And who are you?" he asked carefully.  
  
The voice laughed "Do you want me to tell you? You're dying, you know."  
  
Great Big Little Panther scowled "Dying?"  
  
"Yes! Amazing, isn't it? You'd hardly know it, you're so far asleep." The voice paused to snicker. "Though I dare say poor Tiger Lilly is going to notice when SHE wakes up. A corpse doesn't make the best bed partner."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
The voice made a shrill giggle, like a gargoyle given voice. "Oh! You don't remember! How lovely, you don't remember! I think you'll be in for a lovely surprise, once I tell you. Do you want me to tell you?"  
  
This was becoming irritating. "If it has anything to do with Tiger Lilly, you'd BETTER tell me."  
  
"Marvelous! So forceful! Tell me, did your dear departed wife like that sort of thing or is it a more recent acquirement?"  
  
"Don't talk about my wife." he said, with a low warning growl in his throat. "I don't think you really know anything at all. I think you're just taunting me."  
  
"Oh, well, yes, of course I am! But I DO know SOMETHING." It giggled. A shadow skimmed through the ice on the trees and Great Big Little Panther tried to identify it, but it went to fast for his eyes. "I'm here as a favor to someone who seems to think quite a lot of you, though no god in any heaven knows why. You're rather dim for my tastes."  
  
"Who sent you?"  
  
"Does it matter? Wouldn't you rather hear about the danger posed to your dearest daughter? Or maybe you're own death would be of more interest to you. Indeed, both are very close. If somebody doesn't DO something I'm sure you'll be both happily reunited with your dear....departed...WIFE." It let another giggle. "Oh, I love saying that, just to make your neck twitch there. It's really quit becoming."  
  
"Tell me what you were sent to tell me and be gone!"  
  
It harrumphed "Well if you're going to be snitty it isn't much fun, you know. I could just as easily not tell you anything and just tell my mistress you wouldn't listen to me. It's not like she'd ever HURT me, even if I DID let you die."  
  
The chieftain growled.  
  
"Oh, all right then! Be that way!" the voice snapped. "If you won't let me have any fun...! You and you're daughter are in the brig of the Jolly Roger. Jolie Rouge, if you like the French, not like YOU have any idea what that is but ANYWAY... You were stabbed through the stomach by the Captain, Barbecue, because YOU had the gall to axe his little, er...what shall we call him? We can't call him catamite because he's a little too old and doesn't swing that way, but be that as it may, you axed him, and Barbecue skewered you. Ha! That ought to teach you to mess around with the toys of a one legged pervert, won't it.  
  
"Oh, I can see you scowling at me, you don't believe me. Why don't you remember, you ask? Well you're asleep, do you ever remember when you're asleep? Suspend the roiling disbelief, ye heathen! Before you went waltzing off to battle with a bee in your bonnet you told Tiger Lilly and Hard To Hit to keep their little backsides out of harm's way, but Tiger Lilly didn't listen to you. SHE had to come and avenge your fallen, too! But she didn't expect the pirates to actually win this one, so she was captured along with yourself and one of the Lost Boys, who lost a foot. Lost Boy, lost foot. Ha! There was a fairy who came with you, that puppy-eyed little King of Cats, and you can blame your current condition on him. He thought he was doing you a favor when he deepened all your sleep, but the little fool doesn't know that magic sleep and real sleep aren't nearly the same thing! Real sleep is just a little bit of death, a FALSE bit of death. So it can't really hurt you, see?  
  
"But magic sleep, ah, magic sleep is a little bit of death as well, but it's a little bit of REAL death. It doesn't hurt the average person because the average person is healthy, and a dash of real death just puts a bit of spice in life. You wake up feeling quite rested! But you already had a big ball of real death thrown at you, and the Kitty King adding a bit more was just a bit more than you can handle. Understand? D-E-A-T-H. Death. Bad."  
  
Panther paused "You said there was a danger to Tiger Lilly as well."  
  
"Oh, come ON, isn't your own death good enough?" it huffed. "Fine. The Lost Boys figured out what happened after they scanned the battle sight for corpses, right? They know the Captain is holding you and your daughter and the footless boy hostage. So Peter takes his heroic little butt out to sea and picks a fight with Barbecue. Now, there's a teeny weenie itsy bitsy chance that Peter could actually win this thing, but you shouldn't bet your chickens on it. He's more likely to have to run away and try again later when his boy's aren't so tired. If that happens, and you don't do anything in the meantime, you'll be dead and the poor grieved Tiger Lilly will be left all alone with a ship full of mean and unwashed sailors who haven't seen a proper girl in years. I'm sure not many of them will be all that bothered by the fact she's only eight. Get it?"  
  
"So what do I do about it?" he snarled, angered the voice was telling him the dangers but not the solutions.   
  
"What have I just told you? You're ASLEEP. How do you remedy being asleep? You WAKE UP! Or do you redskins have some other way of doing it?"  
  
Great Big Little Panther blinked. "That's it?"  
  
"That's it."  
  
"...You went through all that just to say Wake Up? Why didn't you just say it to begin with!?"  
  
"Because that wasn't what you asked! Look, I don't personally care whether or not you wake up and get your little daughter out of this mess, but I really think my mistress would rather you live another day. Send Tiger Lilly away, and tell her to take the boy, too. She's smart enough to escape, if she has enough time."  
  
The ice was already beginning to melt around him as Great Big Little Panther forced himself to wake. It wasn't until the dark had begun to seep in around him that he thought to ask one final time "Who IS your mistress?"  
  
It giggled "Haven't you guessed yet? Who else would want to save your hide? Your Sainted, Rotting Wife!"   
  
In the quiet sleep of Tybalt's fashioning, Tiger Lilly did NOT dream. She stumbled from a silent darkness to a broad hand clutching her sleeve and a low, familiar voice murmuring her name. She opened her eyes and sought in the darkness for his other hand.  
  
"Father? Are you alright?"  
  
"Yes, I'm alright." he said with a rough grate to his voice. She felt along his abdomen to try and find the wound but he caught her hand. "Tiger Lilly, listen to me. You're in danger here." he said slowly. His tongue felt thick. "I want you to find a way out of this cell, and I want you to look around until you find an injured boy. Get him out, and take the both of you back to the island."  
  
Tiger Lilly's eyes went wide in the dark "B-but you've been hurt! I'm not leaving without you!"  
  
He sighed and shifted a little onto his side, grimacing at the bolt of pain that went through him, and found her face. "Tiger Lilly, it will be alright. But you have to get out of here right now, do you understand?"  
  
She nodded under his hand.  
  
"Good girl."  
  
His arm dropped and she heard his body slump back to the floor. His breath sounded ragged and pained, and some strange part of Tiger Lilly exalted that she couldn't see him. She didn't want to know her father as anything but the strong and invincible guardian he'd always been, and it shamed her to feel that way.  
  
Being obedient for the first time that day, Tiger Lilly put out her hands and stumbled blindly through the dark. Her fingertips scraped the wall and she put her palms to it, feeling along till she found a corner. Her hands slipped through where the next wall ought to be and she carefully explored the spacings of the cool iron bars. A test of the width of her head proved she couldn't squeeze through them. Fortunately, a redskin always has a trick or two up their sleeves. Or in this case, shoe. Tiger Lilly had decorated her moccasins not with dyed porcupine quills but with the long, pearl-headed sewing pins her brother and her had stolen from Barbecue's sewing kit to show they had courage, quite some time ago. Her father had been so angry he'd nearly hided the both of them. However, he had not insisted on their return.  
  
They could come in good use, now. Quickly tugging two free of the leather of her shoes, Tiger Lilly reached her arms round through the bars, and began to pick the lock.  
  
Asalie Woke Up in a thin and unpleasant hammock, wearing rumpled clothing that was not his own, and already he was being shaken forth to battle. As his wide black eyes looked over the crewman's quarters he knew with a sudden surety that this was no place he had ever been before, yet somehow it seemed familiar. He felt as though layers of his mind were being sloughed away, like topsoil from a stripped hillside, and though he pressed his hands to stop it it could not truly be stopped. He remembered a home, a place of thick grass and deep waters. He remembered a young woman with a basket in her arms. He remembered crying..... the mudslide collapsed into a senseless muck at the foot of the hill in his mind. Asalie looked about him with a blankness that was most painful. The other men had collected their weapons and left shouting, but where were they going to, what was to be fought?  
  
The soil that covered the naked nub of his mind was quickly replaced. It felt like mud being poured over his hands. He was a sailor. He had been a sailor since his early years, and had become a pirate with the Jolly Roger, far and away in England. They weren't in England now. They were in Neverland, and above him crowed the Lost Boys, with whom they had only just fought the night prior. He was to go and kill children.  
  
He rolled out of his hammock and fumbled about himself, looking for a weapon. Sure enough there was a sword and pistol in a worn leather sea bag, hanging from a crooked nail in one of the upright posts. His name was stitched messily into the lip of the bag and it looked as if it had been beaten thru many voyages. Did he even know how to use a sword? The new mud shifted, and suddenly he held it differently, even knew to put the pistol in his belt and to aim well before firing. Perhaps he could succeed in a battle, after all. He walked thru the hold as though he had been aboard this ship forever (and hadn't he?) and looked warily up through the hatch, to where the scuffle fell above. There were children flying through the air. The mud shifted again; of course, why shouldn't children fly thru the air? Children could do such things in Neverland.  
  
Something beneath the stairs caught his attention. It was strange, a wet little sparkle of light in the dark. Ignoring the battle for now, he went down on his haunches and scooted closer to the stairs. Funny! There was a little blue man underneath the stairs, a very little man indeed, half unclothed and wet, with little flashing wings stuck into his back. He didn't look healthy. Asalie prodded him with a thin finger, then picked him up by the chest, trying not to crush him. He was warm, so he probably wasn't dead. What is one to do with a little blue man one finds beneath the stairs? He was sure this wasn't the sort of thing covered in his scholastic years. With a shrug Asalie decided to put him in his shirt pocket, and that he did. He then stood up and tromped happily up the stairs to the deck....  
  
....where he was struck square on the back of the head with a pistol shot, and fell down to the deck boards dead.  
  
Tybalt awoke to suffocate. Even as he struggled up through consciousness he began to panic. He was pressed flat, crushed, airless in a dark where he couldn't even open his mouth to scream. His tiny heart beat faster as he squirmed and flailed without gain, until one shaking hand made itself free of the binding mess, and he could pull himself against it with a panicked and desperate lunge.   
  
Air!  
  
So he had it. The thick rush of senseless gas into his lungs never felt so good, and he puffed at it a moment before hauling against his arms and getting his legs free of the...whatever it was. What was it? He stared blankly behind him, blinking over and again, until the rumpled folds of cloth registered in his mind. In confusion the little fairy stepped back a bit, and now he held a full view of what had just now imprisoned him; the shirt pocket on a crumpled pirate's corpse.  
  
He didn't mean to start screaming, but once he did he couldn't help himself. He stumbled backwards and fell to his rump, his eyes spread wide to stare at the stubble marred face and blood flecked hair, parting with a broken seam where the pistol ball had dug into it. Tybalt was at ground level in the middle of a battle. Scuffling feet brushed too close to him and, with instinct that pushed through even in the midst of terror, Tybalt shot up from the boards, spiraling into the morning air until even the mizzenmast was just another bobbing spear below him. The sails were tied tight to preserve them, and without their obstruction Tybalt could see the entire ship from here.  
  
His Lost Boys were fighting pirates; not hard, it seemed, since there were only three bodies on the deck bleeding out their insides onto the boards. A space had cleared on the main deck, marred by one pale, black haired man standing dumbly and staring before him. In that space, two figures danced furiously with swords; one the unmistakable, incomplete form of Captain Barbecue, a demon in the morning sun, and the other smaller, lighter, clothed in rags and leaves.   
  
His Peter was fighting Captain Barbecue.  
  
Somehow, Tybalt had expected nothing less. 


End file.
